


Monin hou

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [43]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, If you can imagine it it will probablt happen, People dealing with a lot of shit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, This deals with a lot of shit, Trigger Warnings, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: After Bellamy and Clarke negotiate with the grounders, they decide to share the bunker equally. 100 spots per clan. That marks the start of 5 years of forced peace in which mortal enemies have to learn how to live with each other.Shit goes as expected.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VronniePantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VronniePantz/gifts).



> @VronniePantz commented on my one-shot "Negotiation" asking for a follow-up. Which I wasn't going to do, because I really like the idea of the whole gang going up to space, and because I didn't think Murphy and Emori would've survived if they stayed at the Bunker. Then I accidentally erased her nice comment, and felt so shitty about it, I decided to write it anyways. 
> 
> The 100 relies heavily on action-packed fight-or-die situations. So how do the characters cope with the 'down times'? Not well, that's how.

“What do we do about Murphy and Emori?” Bellamy looks briefly at Clarke. “They’re only here to go to the lighthouse bunker.” They’re arriving at the river with the little boat, and this conversation needs to happen now that they’re relatively alone. Bellamy is acutely aware of the back of their van, where Murphy Emori, Echo Monty, and Harper sit. Deciding to give some of the extra spots to Monty and Harper wasn’t difficult. Monty found the bunker. Harper is an asset even with her possible medical issues. She’s a good shot, had been helping at the Dropship’s infirmary and has been under Abby’s tutelage ever since the mountain. “It’s not stocked. They’ll starve.”

 

Something in Bellamy’s chest twists at the thought.

 

Murphy isn’t a friend, he knows the boy is not trustworthy or even honest, but… There’s something wrong with the idea of Murphy just dying. “He’s one of the hundred,” and it bothers him. He doesn’t want to let any more of his people die.

 

“He saved my life. We’re not leaving him behind,” decides Clarke. Bellamy chances a look at him. “Are we?”

 

He smiles weakly. “No.” there’s a moment of silence. “ But how are we going to convince your mom and Kane?”

 

“Six people on the list died during the black rain.” Bellamy shudders, remembering Peter’s panicked pleas over the radio. “And four more died with Jasper. We cover four spots with the people on this mission, seeing as they risked their lives to save Raven.”

 

“Your mom will buy it?”

 

“It’s either that or Jaha loses his spot.”

 

Bellamy snorts. “The grounders would be happy with that.”

 

Clarke laughs, it’s a broken sob-like sound. “I feel terrible that I can laugh at this.”

 

Bellamy feels bad, too. “I just want to sleep.”

 

She puts her gloved hand over his on the gear stick. “Twenty four hours more and then we’ll be in the bunker for five years.”

 

“Are you saying I’ll be able to sleep for five years? Because I call bullshit.”

 

“Seeing as we have an elected Chancellor and won’t be in any wars, or needing to run for our lives, I think there’s a big chance for a nap.”

 

“Wanna bet?”

 

Clarke smiles but doesn’t rise to it, leaning instead against the window.

 

In an absurd streak of good luck they manage to get to the island; convince a very skeptical Murphy and an even more dubious Emori that they’ve won their place in the bunker with this mission; return to Polis and convince a very unhappy Chancellor and a distraught doctor, Griffin, that Monty, Harper, Murphy, and Emori are staying inside or so help them. And all that with still four hours to spare.

 

The whole bunker shakes when the death wave hits. The lights flicker and go out. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, huddled together. Octavia shakes in his arms, breathing harshly and digging her nails into his forearms. Bellamy tries to keep calm. The lights will come back online. They will not die down here, will not die in the darkness.

 

Children wail. Adults try not to scream. Someone hums a soothing lullaby under his breath. It takes him a moment to realize it’s him.

 

The bunker stops shaking. The lights flicker to life. Their five-year imprisonment starts.


	2. ONE

Bellamy wakes as tired as he was when he laid down to sleep. He pushes the scratchy blankets off and rolls to his feet, makes his bed and pulls the small trunk from beneath his bed. He has a total of five shirts, two pants, six underpants and seven socks, all neatly folded at the bottom of the trunk. There is a small ax there, too, but he’s not allowed to carry it around anymore, so he just keeps it as a keepsake. Theoretically, he isn’t allowed to carry the knife in his boot, but he feels naked without it, and it’s not like he’s the only one with blades on their person.

 

He picks a shirt, clean underwear and a towel and pads to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. A few skaikru workers are there already, washing their teeth and stepping out of lukewarm showers. Bellamy greets them with a small nod and steps into the shower.

 

He washes quickly and methodically. When he steps out of the water, his muscles have uncoiled a little bit. He dresses and walks out of skaikru’s wing and down a gray corridor. It’s early enough that only those that absolutely _need_ to be up and about are. He likes it better like this when he can pretend he isn’t cooped up with so many strangers in such a small space.

 

Ignoring the mess hall, he wanders deeper and deeper until he reaches the small office where the janitorial carts are stored, the assignments already pinned to the little pad on top. He has been assigned to the boiler rooms’ filtration system.

 

He unlocks the wheels on his cart and pushes it down another narrow corridor to the boiler room.

 

The boiler rooms are stiflingly hot, dark smoke curling near the low ceiling and clogging the filtration systems. The ten fans in each of the five rooms need to be cleaned meticulously every day.

 

Cleaning the fans means stopping half of them, unscrewing them and scrubbing the first ten feet of the narrow ventilation shafts while the oxygen in the room slowly dwindles.

 

It is hard, monotonous work and he’s been assigned to this post eleven times since he signed up to janitorial duty two weeks ago.

 

He puts the breathing mask and stops the first half of the fans.

 

It’s been two months since Primefaya. Things are not as bad as he feared, but he knows the whole situation is a powder keg ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

 

Grounders aren’t used to living cooked up inside. Even those who lived in Polis were used to running around. Most of them don’t really grasp the tech keeping them alive, or the usefulness of the different jobs they’ve been assigned to. For grounders things like science and technology are entirely foreign concepts and, without proper background knowledge, the more sophisticated technical aspects of the machinery keeping the bunker going is lost to them. It doesn’t help that most of their expertise is related to hunting and farming.

 

Bellamy tries not to feel the pang of satisfaction whenever he sees a grounder failing to understand something he knew since he was a small child. Now they know how the delinquents felt when they were sent down to the ground.

 

Skaikru, on the other hand, is familiar with pretty much all the machinery, restrictions, and rules. They’ve gone back to how things were on the Ark readily enough and many are actually happy about it: a respite after so many months of the unknown. But they aren’t taking the situation as gracefully as they could. Seeing as they are the only ones who actually know what is going on, they feel cheated. A few voices have started to rise over the last few weeks, claiming that, since without skaikru no grounder would be alive, they should get special treatment: better rations, more room, more leeway… Some go even as far as blaming the grounders for the nearly 400 skaikru people that were on the wrong side of the doors when Praimfaya hit. It doesn’t help that two skaikru beds went to grounders. Or that there are “grounder pounders leeching skaikru resources.”

 

Bellamy knows they mean Murphy, Octavia, and Clarke. Not that anyone would dare to openly confront Octavia or Clarke. Murphy, on the other hand, is an easy target: friendless, always on the fringes of skaikru and not protracted by other clans like Octavia. Or, he would be an easy target if he were anywhere to be found.

 

Bellamy coughs, shakes his head, blinking tears out of his stinging eyes.

 

Cleaning in the boiler rooms isn’t a job he would wish on anyone, but it was necessary for him to remove himself from the frontlines. He remembers all too well what happened after Gina died- was killed. He knows Raven was right: he is a follower, and that is why it was so easy to give in to anger and hatred and follow Pike’s reasoning. It nearly cost him Kane’s life.

 

He scrubs at a particularly stubborn spot.

 

_Did you do this for your sister or because it was the right thing to do?_

Kane’s words still rattle around in his brain even after so many months. The anger burning in his veins still hot whenever his head decides to conjure his disappointed face. In a world in which he isn’t a coward, he would’ve answered: “ _I did it for you!_ ” Because the moment Pike decided to start killing arkadians was the moment, he understood the ‘error of his ways.’ He had been able to rationalize the spying and the lying. But killing each other was what happened on the Ark, not the Ground. It reminded him of Murphy’s attempted hanging and Charlotte’s death. And he was not ready to shoulder any more of his people’s deaths. Surely not Kane’s.

 

He screws the fan back in place and moves over to the next one.

 

_You were hurting, and you lashed out because that's what you do. There are consequences, Bell. People get hurt. People die. Your people._

And Octavia was right, too, wasn’t she?

 

That’s why he had to remove himself from his post as a guard. Make way for less broken people to lead their people. And there are worse jobs out there.

 

At least being a janitor, he gets to be useful, does stuff nobody wants to do. It reminds him of the Ark, and it seems oddly fitting that he would land here after hurting his family _again._

Octavia has resorted to ignoring him, her anger returning full-force the day after the doors were sealed. It hurts more than the beating did.

 

“Again?”

 

Bellamy jerks back so quickly he knocks his head on the ceiling. He looks down. Clarke’s standing there dark rings under her eyes, cheeks gaunt and skin a sickly gray.

 

“It’s not that bad.” He steps down from the ladder, taking the mask off the way. “How was the med bay?”

 

She shrugs a shoulder. “Uneventful. Roan stepped by to bitch about how he wants us to be back on the council.”

 

Bellamy snorts pushing his hands into the pant pockets. “Apparently they’re pushing for immediate mandatory lessons in some science fields for grounders under thirty.”

 

Bellamy frowns. “Who is?”

 

“The Az-coalition. Trikru learned to use guns when they were our allies, now they feel like they are at a disadvantage.”

 

“How is that a problem?”

 

“Kane feels there might be a bit of resistance from skaikru if suddenly over half the bunker’s population starts shadowing skaikru. Which automatically brought up the very vocal dissent of some skaikru people.”

 

Bellamy bites back a snort. “Was he trying to convince you to go back or scare you off definitively?”

 

She smiles.

 

Together they step out of the boiler room and sit on a bench by the door. Clarke takes two nutrition packs out of her pocket and gives him one. He isn’t hungry but takes it anyway.

 

There is this rule they have: once a day they will eat together. Mostly to make sure the other doesn’t go too long without eating anything. They might not be all that good at taking care of themselves, but looking after each other is like second nature by now.

 

“Has your mom been nagging you?” he asks after a moment of companionable silence. The nutrition bar tastes weird: stale, slightly bitter and grainy, it’s dry as it goes down his throat.

 

“About speaking to somebody?”

 

He nods.

 

“Yeah, but…” she shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t think I could…” she takes a deep breath. “Make them understand. I don’t think I want them to understand.” She bits her bottom lip. “What about you? Have you been talking to somebody?”

 

He shakes his head. “When they floated my mom they made me go to talk to Vera Kane. She was kind but didn’t really understand. And now…”

 

She puts her small pale hand on his knee, squeezing.

 

“You can talk to me.”

 

“Right back at you.”

 

“What do you think I’m doing here every day?”

 

“Making sure I don’t starve?”

 

They chuckle awkwardly. Clarke pushes him with her shoulder. “Nobody likes a smug know-it-all?”

 

“Speaking from experience, Princess?”

 

Clarke freezes. A heartbeat later she tries to hide it, but it’s too late, Bellamy already noticed. “I shouldn’t…”

 

“I like it when you call me that. You haven’t in a while.”

 

He doesn’t know how to answer that. And they lapse into silence.

 

“Monty has been organizing these remembrance meetings. They get together and talk about the ground and the people they’ve lost. I think… I think it’s because of Jasper. He wants to prevent anyone from feeling like Jasper did.”

 

Clarke worries her bottom lip again. “Have you been to those meetings?”

 

“Once. I… They were mostly delinquents or the kids we rescued from Azgeda.” She squeezes his knee again. Bellamy puts his hand over hers. It’s big enough to engulf it completely. “Eighty-six dead.” He bumbles, rubbing circles on the back of Clarke’s hand with his thumb. That number has been bothering him ”Out of a hundred.”

 

“Fourteen alive.”

 

They sit in silence for a while. Their protein packs are empty by now, but neither feels like moving. Bellamy starts naming the kids he failed to protect in his head, trying to recall how and when every one of them died. He keeps including Lincoln.

 

“Hey,” Clarke’s head is on his shoulder. “Maybe we could go to the Az-quarter. Their sparring ring is pretty good.”

 

“You want to spar?”

 

“I have been sparring. It helps me clear my mind. And I know you’ve been doing it, too. Maybe we could go together sometime.”

 

Bellamy forces himself to stay calm. “How do you know?”

 

“I get my info from Roan, Bell. How do you think I found out?” He huffs but says nothing, so she continues. “Apparently Echo has been more relaxed since she started _sparring_ with you.”

 

“Kink shaming me, Clarke? That’s rich.”

 

“I am not.” She laughs, and it feels nearly honest. “I was surprised because I thought you didn’t like her. But, whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

 

“It’s mostly hate-sex. We barely even talk.”

 

Clarke’s smirk is impish and when she looks up at him through her long lashes something in his chest twitches. “That’s not what Roan heard.”

 

“Is all your pillow-talk with the king about Echo and me?”

 

Clarke barks a laugh right in his face. “I haven’t slept with Roan.”

 

“Why not?”

 

One of her eyebrows crawls up her brow. “Firstly that would feel weird. He is weirdly invested in our” she moves her free hand indicating herself and Bellamy “relationship for some reason. And secondly, you know I’d do anything to prove people wrong.”

 

Bellamy has to look away. He’s all too aware of what the Anti-Grounder Campaign mutters behind their leader's backs.

 

“So you won’t get laid out of spite.”

 

“You clearly never knew me on the Ark. There is a lot of things I would do out of spite.”

 

It’s his turn to laugh now. “I can imagine.”

 

“So, what do you say? Want to spar with me?”

 

“Only if you’re up to it. I wouldn’t want to break you, Princess.”

 

Her snort is everything but princess-like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this was unbetad
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	3. TWO

The Az-sparring ring is in one of the bigger storage rooms in their sector. It’s divided into five quadrilaterals, fenced off with narrow strips of cloth tied to floor-to-ceiling poles. It stinks of stale air and sweat.

 

Bellamy walks into the room feeling awkward. He sees Echo in the ring on the far left.

 

She has shed most of her outer layers, remaining in a threadbare tank top and leggings, her long hair has been pulled into a tight knot at the top of her skull. She moves with much more grace against the tall az-warrior as she normally does when she and Bellamy fight. Probably because most of their sparring could be counted as angry foreplay and neither wants or needs to be handled with kitty gloves.

 

Clarke nudges his arm with her shoulder. “You sure you’re not secretly pining for tall, angry and dangerous over there?” she whispers conspiratorially. “I would totally understand. I mean, she’s got that murdery loner vibe, but she’s beautiful.”

 

“Not my type,” grumbles Bellamy. “You know, betraying me and threatening to kill people I love isn’t really a turn-on for me.”

 

Clarke goes pale and turns her head so quickly he’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Bellamy bites his own tongue – hard. How fucked up is his life that such a description can fit both Echo and his… Clarke?

 

“So,” he clears his throat, “you wanted to spar?”

 

They wander to the second to last ring, which is empty and take off their shoes and jackets. Clarke even pulls her hair into a messy bun, which shouldn’t look as entrancing as it does. He holds the cloth strip up for her to step under and jumps into the ring. The blonde paces the far side, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms.

 

Bellamy has never spared with Clarke before, isn’t really sure when she learned to fight. Back at the dropship and in Arkadia it was his – and Lincoln’s - job to train the young cadets, but she never joined. At the dropship, she was always too busy with the med bay and in Arkadia… Well she wasn’t there to train, was she?

 

They circle each other, neither willing to throw the first punch. Clarke looks nervous, which is ridiculous because this was her idea in the first place. “Whenever you’re done admiring the view,” he taunts. She snorts and gives a tentative step towards him. Never one to stay behind, he does the same. Now they circle each other one-foot closer, and this is ridiculous.

 

Clarke is the first to attack if her flimsy slap can be counted as an attack. He can bite back his smirk. “That’s it?” He tries to grab her, but she dances away. A few seconds later, she feigns a step to de left but comes up with a light kick to his right thigh. It’s a barely there touch of her shin, a playful brush.

 

She is playing.

 

Bellamy feels a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

Well, if dancing’s what she wants…

 

He slaps her hand away when she goes to tap his neck and pats her on the top of the head. On the next pass, she slaps his back, and he manages to pull lightly on her bun. The quick game continues until they’re both covered in a thin sheet of sweat, breathing hard. His whole being seemed to be concentrating on her: the way she breathes, the way she moves, the way that drop of sweat rolls down her throat, down her collarbone and into the valley between her breasts.

 

“You call that fighting?” calls a grounder to his left and he’s suddenly aware of the crowd that has gathered to watch them. “Come on, Wanheda, you can do better than that!”

 

“Shut up, Gerry!” grumbles Clarke, a flush high on her cheeks.

 

“Yeah, Gerry, want to come up here and have your ass handed to you?” It’s a childish taunt and, if he weren’t riding so high on endorphins, he would’ve probably kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t know this Gerry, but Clarke apparently does.

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” says a strong, square-jawed giant to Gerry’s left. “You don’t want to go up against Wanheda and Natswis.”

 

“Two against one seems unfair in the training ring,” Echo pipes up, toweling sweat from her face. “I’ll back you up.”

 

Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look. Her nearly manic grin is a thing of beauty.

 

The grounders don’t mess around. They jump at them with battle cries and a fury of fists and kicks. Bellamy is used to Echo’s fighting style by now. He’s used to her aggressive growls and the way her body undulates out of reach, her aim always true and _hard_. He’s able to hold his own only because he’s been fighting with her for three weeks now. But he needs his head in the game and can barely keep track of Clarke, too occupied concentrating on not getting utterly humiliated.

 

He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye: Gerry head-butting Clarke so hard, she stumbles back with a grunt, blinking, momentarily disoriented. Bellamy doesn’t notice himself moving until his foot connects with the man’s chest, pushing him away. It’s a mistake, because he forgets his guard, allowing for Echo to pull on his arm, destabilizing him. Bellamy’s left leg flares in pain when she ruthlessly kicks him in the old wound on his thigh.

 

This is usually the moment Echo gets the upper hand and straddles his chest, and their sparring turns into angry fucking.

 

This time, though, Clarke is there, pulling harshly on Echo’s bun and throwing her against Gerry, who was just regaining his footing. Wangeda _growls_. Echo’s smile is harsh and brutal. “ _Ban we_ , Bellamy,” spits the spy before launching herself at Clarke.

 

Somewhere a bell rings, signaling it’s 15 minutes until curfew. The grounders watching the fight, groan.

 

“Saved by the bell," mumbles Bellamy next to Clarke.

 

Gerry and the spy come closer. “Well fought,” concedes the warrior clapping Bellamy on the back. Grounders are always more willing to touch him than they are to touch Clarke, he has noticed. “We should do it again sometime.”

 

The two skaikru walk side-by-side out of the az-sector.

“It still feels so childish having a curfew,” muses Clarke. “I haven’t had one in three years.”

 

“Imagine how the grounders feel.”

 

Through the haze of endorphins and the soreness of his muscles, Bellamy’s vaguely aware that they should walk quicker. Once the curfew starts, the lights will shut off on most of the facility to save energy and let the machinery cool off.

 

“Did you?”

 

“Did I what?”

 

“Have a curfew?”

 

Bellamy frowns. “You mean growing up? No. I spent as much time at home as humanly possible.”

 

They walk in silence down another flight of stairs.

 

“It sometimes hits me, how little we know about each other’s life.”

 

“Well, it’s not like we had a lot of time to chit-chat.”

 

“Do you think we will have it now?”

 

“I think…” the light on the staircase goes off and the staircase goes into lockdown with a loud reverberating CLANG. “I think we missed our curfew.”

 

They tap their way slowly down the last flight of stairs to the door that leads into the skaikru sector and try to open it. To no avail. The darkness down here is complete. Bellamy shudders. He finds Clarke’s hand. She entwines their fingers.

 

The darkness is stifling, it chokes, it bites and tears at him like the jaws of an angry beast. He hears his and Clarke’s breathing. He hears the low hum of the filtration system. The oxygen outside of populated areas goes down 20% during curfew but, unlike the rest of the electronics, it is never shut down, specifically for cases just like this. The council doesn’t want to kill people who ignore the curfew; they just need to preserve energy, to prevent anything from breaking before they can leave the bunker.

 

“Looks like we’ll be staying here for the night,” says Clarke, sliding down the door to the floor, pulling him down with her.

 

They talk in hushed whispers like they’re afraid to disturb the chafing darkness. Clarke’s warm presence pressed shoulder-to-hip against him is comforting. Her head lands on his shoulder at some point. She stops answering after a while. Her breath deep and even when she falls asleep.

 

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It’s so very Clarke to just take whatever chance she gets to nap. Bellamy leans his head against hers, letting himself relax, slowly, muscles uncoiling. He brushes his thumb over her pulse point, allowing it lull him.

 

That’s when he notices.

 

There’s something hiding in the darkness. It jerks him to full awareness.

 

Bellamy can feel it watching him, stalking him. It grumbles and growls as it creeps closer. He scans the darkness, trying to find it, but he can’t see anything. The darkness it’s absolute. The beast mutters with one thousand voices different voices. He hears a scraping that puts his teeth on edge, like sharp metal dragging slowly, inexorably on stone. The voices are getting closer.

 

The beast is there, lurking, ready to strike and he wants to fight, but in the darkness, he can’t find his bravado, his courage has deserted him, leaving him a pathetic, shaking, sobbing mess.

 

Bellamy pulls his knees against his chest when he feels the slick, oily creature slithering against his foot.

 

“I am not afraid,” he whispers under his breath, clawing at the feeling of his thighs against his ribs, concentrating on the mad dash of his heart, the rushing in his ears masking the cackling of one thousand voices taunting him. “I am not afraid. I am not afraid.”

 

The monster laps at his feet and Bellamy clenches his fists tighter, bowing his head, hiding it between of his knees. _Pathetic_ , hiss the monster’s one thousand voices: some mocking, some angry, some disgusted.

 

“I am not afraid.”

 

Bellamy tries to concentrate on those words, tries to push the coldness away, tries to move away from the monster, but the door behind his back is unmoving. The creature sniffs around him, jaws snapping and voices throwing slurs and insults at him.

 

 _Pathetic little knight by his queen’s side,_ whisper the disgusted voice.

_I think the queen’s dead_ , purrs a petulant voice, cold, humid breath at his ear. Bellamy launches himself at Clarke, his fingers trying to find her pulse point, only to be met with slick wetness sprouting from where he plunged his knife into her throat. He can’t see her, but he can hear her gagging, can hear her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her body is heavy when she falls on top of him. The knife clatters to the ground, the metal on concrete so loud, it echoes up the staircase. Clarke’s body pins him down, her arms sprawled on either side of him, her soft, pliant chest pressed against his. Bellamy’s scared to death as he pushes his hands against the slippery column of her throat, trying to stop the blood. There’s so much blood gushing from between his fingers. Her body heavier by the second, crushing him.

 

“Bellamy, I can’t breathe.”

 

He blinks his eyes open and has to automatically squint them against the harsh fluorescent lights. He’s lying on his back on the concrete floor.

 

The former guard blinks down at Clarke is sprawled on top of him. It takes him a moment to notice how hard he’s crushing her against him. He releases her, but Clarke doesn’t move away right away. Instead, she looks at his face, chin digging uncomfortably against his sternum. Slowly she brings her hands to his shoulders to push herself up.

 

“Sorry, I think I drooled all over your shirt,” Bellamy grunts noncommittally and sits up. His back pops loudly. “You look like shit.”

 

“Thank you, Princess.”

 

She worries her bottom lip. “What were you dreaming?”

 

“What?”

 

“You were crushing me as if your life depended on it and… You are crying.”

 

He brushes his hand over his face, it’s wet with tears. He takes a deep breath. Looks into her earnest blue eyes. And lies. “I don’t remember.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this was unbetad
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting :D


	4. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in the bunker continues.  
> It still sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy continues to catch 0 breaks. I should probably be sorry about this.

Three days after they got locked in the stairwell after curfew, Bellamy finds himself, in Raven’s workshop once again. Since that night, Bellamy has trouble being alone. The monster in the darkness keeps stalking him even when he is in fully lit rooms. He sees it out of the corner of his eye: a barely-there shadow, a murmur he cannot quite make out. He’s constantly on edge, unable to concentrate. Yesterday he cut his right hand because he forgot to stop the fans in the boiler room’s filtration system, during the nights he finds himself walking down the corridor of skaikru’s dorm, trying to tire himself out enough to collapse on his bed and not dream. So far he’s managed a total of three whole hours of sleep.

 

The mechanic is tinkering with some scrap. Emori sits close by, frowning over a circuit and trying to find out why it isn’t working. Bellamy half listens to them as they work while trying to concentrate on one of the books he’s squirreled out of the library – the bunker’s library is vast, and his heart nearly stopped when he found it.

 

When the letters start to swim in front of his eyes, he blinks and starts the sentence for the fifth time. _‘All these books, he thought, the residue of a planet’s intellect, the scrapings of futile minds, the leftovers, the potpourri of artifacts that had no power to save men from perishing.’_

The book is over two hundred years old, and Bellamy has read it many times already. When he was fourteen and scavenging the free part of the Ark’s digital archive for books to read to O, he found an electronic copy of it and devoured it in one evening. It’s one of the few books he never shared with his sister, one of the few things that were ever just _his_. Bellamy hadn’t intended for it to become something that he would always identify as _his,_ he always thought he would read it to her when she was older. But then they took her away and now…

 

The door opening jolts him awake. The book falls from his grasp, slipping to the floor with a soft thud.

 

The janitor blinks up. Between the cluttered shelves he’s sitting behind, he can see Kane and Indra, followed by twelve young teens. The mechanic stands up, effectively situating herself between the newcomers and Emori, her shoulders thrown back and a challenging frown on her brow.

 

Kane’s smile is the same kind and patient one he uses whenever he expects a long, tiring argument.

 

“Good afternoon, Raven.” His eyes fall on the grounder woman behind the mechanic “Emori. As you might have heard, science lessons are now mandatory for young kru. We need you to start with the first group.” He gestures at the children. “Give them a basic crash-course before they start shadowing.”

 

Raven shakes her head. “Don't we have teachers for this sort of thing?”

 

“They got the older groups.”

 

“We have a lot of work to do.”

 

A few of the kids standing at the back of the group inch closer to the cluttered shelves lining the workshop’s walls, poking curiously at the machines. One of them has the markings of trishanakru on his brow, another the big brands of azgeda. A girl with the piercings of ingranornakru mutters to the azgedan boy. He snorts.

 

“They might be able to help you with your work in a few weeks.”

 

“All clans selected the best and brightest to come into the bunker,” announces Indra with her customary gravity.

 

“I’m sure they have,” deadpans Raven. “But most of you people don’t even know math.” Indra stares, the word obviously making little sense to her. “Math is the basis for most of my work here.”

 

“Then that is what they will learn. If the _frikdreina_ can...” Bellamy sees Raven’s hackles rising.

 

“Don’t call her that.”

 

“…Then _fousen kru_ will as well,” continues Indra like Raven hasn’t spoken.

 

“Raven, please. We need your help.”

 

The mechanic presses her lips together. “Fine.”

 

The chancellor smiles and puts his big hand on Raven’s narrow shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Thank you.”

 

Indra turns to the children, calling them to attention. She explains the situation in trigedasleng and leaves with a warning to behave and obey the Fayalida as they would their commander.

 

A sort of amazed hush falls over the workshop after the adults are gone. The twelve kids stand around Raven, shifting on their feet and nearly vibrating with pent-up energy. The mechanic’s mouth is set in a straight, unhappy line. “So…uh… My name is Raven.” She frowns. “Do all of you speak English?” A girl in pigtails turns to whisper to a younger, fairer one.

 

The self-appointed leader of the pack steps forward. He’s probably fourteen years old; with half his head shaved and a small fang pierced into his hear. “Most of us speak _gonasleng_ , but the children” he points at the younger, girl next to the one with pigtails and a boy who is probably ten. “They aren’t warriors, so they didn’t learn it.”

 

Raven grunts a soft _float me on Wednesday_. “I can translate for the children,” pipes Emori.

 

“We don’t need help from a dirty _frikdreina_!” proclaims the boy.

 

“I’m kicking out anyone who uses that word in here again,” snaps Raven so harshly, the kids take a step back. The leader frowns his lips but doesn’t challenge her. “Good. Now that’s been settled. My name is Raven. She’s Emori. Emori’s my assistant, and apparently will be helping me teach you brats about math.”

 

Emori smirks. “Am I?”

 

“You heard Kane, they need to learn. And I am not handling this on my own.” The grounder laughs. “You two,” Raven points at the pair that doesn’t know English. “Go stand with Emori, she’ll translate for you.”

 

The girl in the pigtails points the little one and the boy towards Emori, and together the three of them do as they are told.

 

Bellamy watches half in awe, half bemused how Raven takes the reigns of this little group and launches into the basics of math, leaving the kids scrambling to keep up.

 

The steady droning of the mechanic’s voice, punctuated by Emori’s soft whispered translation, is enough to lull him back into a doze.

When he wakes, his back is killing him. He stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders to get the stiffness away and is met by sudden silence. The twelve children now seated cross-legged on the floor stare at him with wide awed eyes. Bellamy notices suddenly he must have been hidden from their sight by a rack of cluttered shelves.

 

The trig muttering starts like a rising hum.

 

Raven arches an eyebrow.

 

“Sorry” he rubs the back of his head, “I’ll be going now.”

 

He picks his way out of the room, followed by the murmur of “ _Natswis,_ ” “ _Em ai toli maizen,_ ” and “ _Ai gaf in ai gona laik em._ ”

 

Bellamy wanders past the mess hall, out of a crowded corridor, down a flight of stairs and into the storage area. It’s a shortcut to farm station that goes through a few halls that are usually deserted, except for the odd kitchen-worker picking up some supplies

 

A muffled sound stops him dead in his tracks, frowning. The hall is empty, doors to his left and right closed.

 

After a moment it comes again: a sob so faint it’s nearly swallowed by the hum of the machinery overhead. He has to wait a few more seconds until the sound comes again and he’s able to pinpoint it.

 

The janitor opens the door to his left and peers inside. At first, he doesn’t see anything. Then his eyes adjust to the dim light enough to recognize Murphy’s huddled form in a corner, surrounded by big creates. The delinquent has his knees pressed against his chest and both of his hands covering his mouth, trying to muffle the heartbroken noise. His shoulders shake in a very distinctive way.

 

Bellamy makes his way to where the young man sits and knocks softly on one of the wooden boxes to alert him of his presence.

 

Murphy’s too big eyes snap up to him and then drop back to his knees. A blotchy blush spreading high on his cheekbones.

 

“What happened?”

 

Murphy bites down on his knuckles, but it’s not enough to completely muffle his soft whine. Bellamy sits down in the cramped space and put his hand on the bony shoulder. “Murphy, what’s wrong?”

 

The man pants, gulping air and visibly trying to push the tears down. “Go away.” The delinquent does a token effort to dislodge Bellamy’s hand, but there is really no heat behind the gesture.

 

“Talk to me, Murphy. What happened?”

 

“I don’t want you to know!” spits the boy, and when he stands up, it’s such a sudden jerk it takes Bellamy a little back. “I don’t want anyone to know. That is the fucking problem!” Half a dozen expressions war on his face, shifting too quickly to identify. “THEY ALL KNOW! They know, and they laugh and point, and I just want them to leave. Me. Alone!”

 

“What do they know?”

 

“Everything!”

 

Bellamy frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 

“The chipped!” growls Murphy, his expression settling on burning anger. “They are starting remembering the stuff they knew when they were a hive mind or whatever. And now they _know_.” His mouth twists, and it reminds Bellamy of that raw, wounded expression he wore in the Dropship so long ago. “And I can feel them staring, I….” the delinquent stops, his voice cutting off. He opens and closes his mouth like he’s choking. His whole frame so tense he shakes from head to toe. Bellamy stands slowly, but the young man doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“Murphy?” Slowly, he steps closer. “John?”

 

Even with his scruff and strong shoulders, in that instant, the young cook looks like a child. His too big blue eyes round and scared. “I didn’t want to…” His voice is faint and shaky. “And they know, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” When Bellamy takes him in, the boy nearly collapses against his chest. “I thought it was over, but it never stops, and they all know.”

 

“Shhh. It’s ok.”

 

“I just want it to stop. But it won’t. It will never stop.”

 

“Yes, it will. It will get better. I promise.”

 

Bellamy isn’t sure how long he stands there, holding Murphy together. At some point the young man manages to get himself together enough to stand back, his ears so red, they seem to glow in the dim light of the storage room. The delinquent sniffs and cleans his nose with his sleeve. He can’t look Bellamy in the eye. “Sorry about that.”

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re my people, Murphy, whatever it is, you can trust me.”

 

The younger man nods without looking up. “Be careful when you go down to farm. Nobody is supposed to be down there after hours.”

 

“I know.”

 

He swallows, takes a step back, and flees, leaving Bellamy alone in the dimly lit storage room, feeling bone-tired and choking with grief. What the hell happened to Murphy? What could possibly be so terrible to break him like that?

 

Bellamy wanders into the farm sector still thinking about the delinquent. Now that the work-shifts have ended, the subterranean fields are empty save for the rows upon rows of plants growing steadily in their pots.

These are different from the ones they grew on the Ark: instead of small chewy algae leaves, they produce tomato-like fruits; the blossoms full of corn-like grain. The grain is turned into protein bars, and the fruits are cooked – usually in a stew, although, when Murphy has his way in the kitchen they get crispy backed fruits. The protein bars and the fruits are distributed in the mess hall in exchange for credits. Just like skaikru did on the Ark.

 

Bellamy presses his lips together.

 

For a beautiful, beautiful moment, he thought those days were over. The days when they had to scrape together enough credits to eat when families would have to share a measly protein bar because they needed a new pair of boots and didn’t make enough credits or…

 

He tramps down those thoughts. This is temporary. He needs to remember that. This will pass, five years, fifty-seven months more and they’ll be back on the surface. Back under the sun, running through the forest, eating tender flavor-rich meat by the fire.

 

A movement to his left, between the potted plants, catches his eye. When he turns, he sees Laura, the little factory station girl who slipped them the information about the slaves being moved.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

She looks at him with a frown. “I like it here. It feels like home.”

 

Something in his chest breaks. “Are you here all by yourself?” She shrugs. “Mind if I join you?”

 

He sits down so that they’re both at eye level. The girl hugs her skinny legs to her chest. She wears a crooked ponytail and gray overalls. “Do you like it down here?

 

Laura shrugs again. “They’re making us learn _their_ language.”

 

Bellamy scrunches up his nose in mock distaste. “Yeah, it’s a pain.”

 

“Josh says they’re trying to make us salvage like them. He says first they start with the language, and then we’ll have to wear skins like they do, and live in tents and caves like animals. “

 

“Josh says all that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Bellamy scoots a little closer. The girl is maybe eight years old, her too big eyes and too thin frame remind him of Octavia. “What else does Josh say?”

 

“He says it is coming for those grounder-fuckers.”

 

“Language, young lady,” Bellamy says without even thinking, and the tips of Laura’s ears turn a bright red.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“What does he mean with that? Do you know?”

 

Laura shrugs her small shoulders again. “Only that he’s gonna avenge every arker that died during the death wave. And before that.”

 

Bellamy munches over those words.

 

The existence of an Anti-Grounder Campaign isn’t news to him. It is the main reason why he resigned the guard. But it worries him that they’re drawing kids in, that there might be a plan taking form right under Kane’s nose. Complaining is one thing; indoctrinating, another altogether. “What do you think about all that?”

 

“I don’t understand why we have to live with them. They’re our enemy. I don’t wanna see them every day. I don’t wanna eat with them, and I don’t want them near the crops.”

 

“The grounders are not our enemy, Laura. Nobody inside this bunker is our enemy. We made peace with them.”

 

“They killed my dad. They put my friends and me in chains and made us work all the time. They beat us if we talked. I hate them.”

 

“I know.” He wets his lips. “But listen to me for a moment, ok?” Laura cocks her head. “You know we killed the people that had you chained up, the people that killed your dad. My friends and I got you out of farm station, and killed the people that hurt you.”

 

“Yes.”  
  


“So, they are dead. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

“Josh says the others are exactly the same. They outnumber us and will put us in chains again.”

 

“Josh is an idiot.” He takes a deep breath. “Believe me, Laura, I know how you feel. For a long time, I thought the same thing. But the world isn’t that easy. There are no good or bad people, just people. A people is not evil because a few of them do bad stuff.” Laura stares at him with a small, confused frown. Bellamy runs his tongue over his teeth, thinking. Then, slowly, he asks: “Do you know my sister Octavia?”

 

“Yes, she’s the angry woman that’s always with grounders.”

 

“She wasn’t angry before. In fact, she was very, very happy, as happy as I’ve ever seen her. You see, on the Ark, my sister was a secret.”

 

Laura nods. “The girl under the floor.”

 

“That’s right. Do you know why she was the girl under the floor?” Laura shakes her head no. “On the Ark people could have only one child. That’s why nobody else has a sister or a brother. It was a terrible law. But my mom had a second kid. This baby girl is the only thing she had left from her lover, and she couldn’t give her up. So my mom and I hid the baby. Whenever an inspection came, we would put her under the floor. Octavia was a prisoner on the Ark for sixteen years. She was alone, had no friends, no teachers, and couldn’t go to the movies, or to the Exchange or to parties. But, one day, the guards found her out, and they put her in the Sky Box and floated my mom.” Laura gasps. “We were sent to the ground with one hundred other delinquents. It was cool at first, you know? There were no parents and no rules, we did what we wanted,” Laura giggles, “we learned to hunt, and we build tents. But, there was a threat looming in the forest. Trikru. We had landed in their territory, and they were not happy about it. They didn’t attack at first. They just watched us, trying to understand what we wanted.”

 

“When did they attack you?”

 

“They didn’t. We did. There was an accident. You see, when we went down, our radio died, and we lost contact with the Ark. So, in order to let them know that we were still alive and that they could come down, we sent up flares. We didn’t know about the grounders. We didn’t know they had survived the Bombs. We threw the flares and were very happy because the Ark must have seen them. But the flares burned down a village. _That_ was the start of the war.”

 

“But you didn’t want to hurt them.”

 

“I know. But we did. And many grounders were very angry about that but not all of them. My sister, Octavia, met this grounder, Lincoln, who didn’t want to fight. He wanted to be our friend. And he lived with us, he taught us the language, how to fight, and was a good friend to all of us.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“We killed him.” He takes a deep breath. “Angry skaikru people like Josh, like myself, who thought that all the grounders were the same. We killed him.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if you think all people are evil because a few of them do bad stuff, then you’ll end up hurting good people. And death is not something you can make better.”

 

Laura munches on that for a moment. “I am sorry about your friend.”

 

He swallows the knot in his throat. “Yeah. Me, too.”

 

They stay in silence for a minute or two. Then Laura creeps out from under the plant. “I am tired.”

 

“Come, I’ll walk you back to the dormitories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Bellamy reads is "I am Legend" (you should totally check that out, it's an amazing book. Please don't watch the movie, though, it gets the point so wrong...)
> 
> Words in trig are:  
> fousen kru - would mean "real kru"/"propper kru" (as opposed to frikdreinas)  
> frikdreina - mutant/outsider/freak  
> gonasleng - English / warrior speak  
> Natswis - Knife in the dark (Bellamy's grounder title)  
> Em ai toli maizen - he's so handsome  
> Ai gaf in ai gona laik em - I want to be like him when I grow up. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	5. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of the abusive nature of some of the relationships in this thing and the fact that there is an off-screen beating. If you'd rather not read that, you can skip from the point where Octavia appears to the **** I put in place for you not to miss the last scene.

Bellamy doesn’t like the mess hall. He doesn’t like the buzz of people talking, the feeling of being surrounded, or that it looks like the dining room in Mount Weather did. Up until now, he’s managed to avoid spending any in here, but he’s on a mission now.

 

The room is big enough to house nearly two-thirds of the bunker’s whole population, and it’s usually fairly full. On the left wall are the doors to the kitchens and a long counter behind which the kitchen staff delivers the food. Thirteen long tables divide the rest of the room: the thirteenth is reserved for the council, their families, and most trusted advisors. The others have been assigned to the different clans. Not that there’s a rule stipulating that, as a skaikru, you can’t sit with delphikru, for example. But most of the population instinctually sticks to their clan’s tables.

 

“Over there,” Laura, standing by his side, points at skaikru’s desk on the far left side of the hall.

 

Bellamy recognizes Josh’s broad shoulders and crooked nose instantly. Back on the Ark, the man lived five doors down Bellamy’s corridor and, since he often dropped by unexpectedly to flirt with Aurora, had nearly found out about Octavia many times. Bellamy never liked his greasy smile or his strange lisp, but he had been kind to Aurora and Bellamy. Even after the former was floated, Josh kept stopping by every once in a while to ask how he was doing.

 

At the table in the bunker, Josh laughs at something the small brunette woman to his right says. The group sitting with him is huge. Bellamy recognizes many of them as Pike supporters, which, after everything Laura has told him, doesn’t come as a surprise. What does is seeing Bryan sitting across from Josh.

 

Laura skips away to join a group of younger children, leaving the janitor standing alone in the doorway. Eventually, he wanders over to the kitchen workers. He stands in line until he reaches Murphy. The boy fills his bowl with a smirk that has Bellamy questioning if he really wants to eat something made by the delinquent. Then again, the boy has been working at the kitchens since they got locked up in this bunker and nobody has died of food poisoning. So there’s that.

 

He ambles towards his targets.

 

“Bellamy!” Josh is the first one to spot him. “Come over!” Bryan shifts to the side on the bench, making room for him. The former guard gives a perfunctory nod and takes his place next to Miller’s ex. “How have you been, kid?” Josh asks, with a jagged smile. “I heard you were kicked out of the guard.”

 

“I resigned.”

 

The petite woman frowns. “Why?”

 

Bellamy shrugs.

 

“One would think this is the worst moment for our young peacekeepers to resign,” says a man in a dull red shirt: Peter, factory station.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Are you blind?” a woman – Dorothy? Debby? She was hydra station, Bellamy’s pretty sure. “We are surrounded by enemies.”

 

“Is that so?” He tries to keep his voice neutral, keep his thoughts in check.

 

“This threat is very real.” Josh leans his elbows on the table between them; he lowers his voice. “I saw you take out those two riders back in Arkadia, before the whole City of Light debacle. I know you want what is best for us.”

 

Bellamy hums noncommittally.

 

“We need to protect ourselves. The grounders… They make alliances with each other when they have a common enemy. _We_ are that enemy, and it’s only a matter of time before they’ve learned enough to run this facility and decide to float us. They’ve already started infiltrating themselves into every sector. Now Kane is allowing them to learn how to use our tech. How long until we become irrelevant?”

 

 _How long until chocolate cake turns into being hung upside down and drained of their blood._ Bellamy represses a shudder and looks around the room to try and shake the nagging memories of Mount Weather.

 

At the food counter on the other side of the mess hall, Murphy and three ouskejon kru women tease each other. Murphy’s countenance is slightly guarded, but he is quick to answer their banter, and there is a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth. This is as careless as Bellamy’s seen him since the Dropship. Over at trikru’s desk, Octavia arm-wrestles a bearded guy. Bellamy thinks of the children listening to Raven at the workshop, of the sparring ring in the az-quarter and how many grounders have started using it, regardless of clan. They are mingling, the lines beginning to blur even after only a few months. In five years, if left alone, the twelve clans might have become a single one. 1200 people unified under the same banner. The last survivors of the human species and no reason to continue with their wars.

 

Josh wants to prevent that, and Bellamy’s not going to let him. Not when this whole Anti-Grounder Campaign means the continuation of a war he’s too tired to fight.

 

“Have you gone to Kane with this concerns?”

 

The petite woman snorts. Josh shakes his shaved head. “Kane is not in charge anymore.”

 

“He isn’t?”

 

“Don’t be naïve. Kane hasn’t been in charge since before the City of Light. He’s just a puppet.”

 

“Dr. Griffin, then?”

 

“Come on, Bellamy” huffs Bryan. “We all know the one pulling strings here is Clarke. She’s the one the grounders respect.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be talking to her, then?”

 

“But that’s the problem: the grounders have her eating out of the palm of their hands. She’s been sleeping with them so long, I think she’s forgotten what arkadian cocks look like.”

 

Bellamy swallows back the need to kick Peter’s ass on Clarke’s behalf. He takes a deep breath through his nose and hopes his voice comes less strained than he feels

 

“So, what do you want from me? As I said, I resigned. I’m on janitorial duty.”

 

“Eh! A very noble duty. Every job is important. But we were thinking, maybe you could take the spot on the guard back? Help us get our hands on some weapons? For our protection.” Josh smiles kindly at him, “And the protection of our children. We don’t want no problem. But we shouldn’t be completely defenseless when the grounders attack.” His big hand lands on Bellamy’s shoulder. “And believe me, they will.”

 

The young man casts his eyes around the group. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Ata boy! I knew we could count on you! That’s why Pike trusted you.”

 

The men and women cheer. It doesn’t take long for the conversation shift into other directions. Bellamy learns that Peter works at the farm, the petite woman is called Amanda, the slightly cross-eyed man had a daughter that was floated a week before the Culling.

 

When he finally leaves, his head is buzzing with new information. He wanted to understand their reasoning, find out what they were planning, but now that he’s sat with them, he feels like he’s back in Mount Weather, undercover and wading dangerous territory. Humanizing a target is a problem. Dehumanizing the grounder army outside Arkadia was easy right until he saw Indra. Indra: someone he knew, a friend to his sister, a woman that had kept Octavia save when he couldn’t.

 

The Mountain was just a dangerous monster until Maya helped him until those children walked by. Josh and his followers were only a random faction, some face-less group of radicals that thought Pike had been right. Now they still think Pike was right, but they have names and faces, and Bellamy could get them all floated.

 

Over the next week, he meets them twice at dinner and five times in skaikru’s common room. The group fluctuates: there isn’t always the same amount or the same people, but Bellamy is able to discern a pattern: most of Josh’s followers are farm station. Most lost someone after landing in Azgeda’s territory and in Mount Weather. They hate all grounders, but especially Azgeda. Which means they have something in common with trikru. Josh is the face of the operation, but Bellamy is pretty sure there’s somebody else pulling strings. That person is the one Bellamy wants to meet, the one he wants to talk to and try to dissuade or bring to Kane.

 

He doesn’t intend on delivering on his promise to get them guns, or even asking Kane to be allowed back on the guard. But his position as a lowly janitor enables him to go anywhere he wants to. So he feeds the group tiny tidbits of information. Harmless stuff that’s not unimportant enough to make him entirely worthless for their cause.

 

For the first time since he started living inside this concrete prison, Bellamy feels focused, sharp and on point. It’s like all the weight that had been dragging him down, all that sorrow threatening to choke him, all the insecurities keeping him awake at night have vanished leaving only single-minded focus behind. And it feels so good to be back, to move freely and not like he’s wading through chest-high water. For the first time in months, he feels like himself again. He feels alive once more.

 

And yes, he’s had to make sacrifices to gain Josh’s people’s trust. He no longer risks being seen eating with Clarke – she would, probably, ask about his still bandaged hand, and try to distract him. He has avoided sparring with Echo, too. Their dalliances being even more risky for his undercover operation. The Anti-Grounder Campaign has an obvious opinion on sleeping with grounders.

 

Bellamy’s walking down a corridor when Octavia intercepts him. O is angry, he can see it clear as day in the set of her shoulders and the murderous look in her eyes. She pushes him hard. “You’re with the Anti-Grounder Campaign!”

 

Bellamy doesn’t answer. There isn’t anything to say. She clenches her fists. Her friends – all grounders – surround them in a loose circle. They are all spoiling for a fight. He takes a step back, right into the chest of a tall delphikru woman who puts her square hands on his shoulders. “Answer me!” shouts Octavia. A bit of spittle falling on his cheek.

 

This is the first time Octavia has acknowledged his existence since they closed the doors, it stings a little that she’s only doing it on the grounder’s behalf.

 

“You didn’t ask any question.”

 

“Are you with the Anti-Grounder Campaign?” growls the girl that was once his sweet little sister through gritted teeth.

 

Bellamy looks at this woman and can’t find any trace of that little girl anywhere, and a big part of him knows he’s responsible for destroying that girl. And even though he still has hope to somehow mend their relationship, he knows this will be the final straw. She will never forgive him for it.

 

“Yes.”

 

There is no follow-up question. His motives are irrelevant in the wake of Octavia’s anger. There is barely any time to brace himself before she explodes like a tidal wave. The delphikru woman keeps him upright, and his guilt at what he’s done to Octavia keeps him restrained once again.

 

They leave him crumpled on the floor, spitting blood and aching.

 

This has been the first time his sister has touched him since they closed the doors. How pathetic is he that he cherishes even this harmful touch?

 

***

 

Clarke fins him a few hours later, sitting on a crate in a storage room, trying to stitch his own cheek with his left hand. “What the hell!” Bellamy flinches, nearly stabbing his own eye out with the curved needle he found. The blonde comes into the room to inspect the damage.

 

“Are you alright? What happened?”

 

His left eye is swollen shut and his jaw aches. One of his molars feels loose. The wound on his right hand is bleeding again, and he can’t stop it from shaking. The pain is nearly mind-numbing.

 

“I fell down the stairs.”

 

Clarke doesn’t believe him. She also doesn’t push.

 

“Here, let me.” Bellamy gratefully puts his hand away for her to dab the wound with a clean rag and do the stitches again. “You could’ve come to the med bay, you know.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t move.”

 

For a moment Clarke stands there, head bent over him, warm hands on his face and that beautiful blue gaze focused only on him. His heart races against his ribs. Which is ridiculous, because they’ve been this close very often. But under the harsh light of the fluorescents, with her deep-set frown and pursed lips, something seems different. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’s wading through muddy waters anymore. Or maybe it’s the smell of her enveloping him in a place where they’re completely alone. Or the fact that he’s been avoiding her since the night in the stairwell and he has missed her. Or perhaps it’s only the leftover adrenaline from the beating.

 

“Why aren’t you using your right hand?” Clarke asks, softly.

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s been over two weeks since you started wearing the bandage.” She says tying the end of the threat and cutting it with a pocketknife she isn’t supposed to be carrying around. Nobody is supposed to go around with weapons. Every delinquent does, and Bellamy feels better knowing that.

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Then you won’t mind if I take a look.” The young woman grabs his wrist before he can pull away and pushes the bandages out of the way. It looks horrible: swollen and puffy with something white oozing out of it. There’s a soft gasp, and then her blue eyes are back on his face. “This is infected.” It probably needed stitches, too, but Bellamy was too busy to actually deal with it. “We are going to the med bay. We need to treat this immediately.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“Do you want to lose your hand? Because you might. Also, there might be some nerve damage, which might be irreparable. Is that what you want?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then stop being difficult and come with me.”

 

They wander up to the med bay. He missed even walking silently beside her, knowing she’s there, feeling her warmth brushing against his side.

 

She doesn’t call anyone, just directs him to a chair at the back of the room. It’s a secluded spot, with a decent overlook of the whole med bay and slightly covered thanks to a few empty beds. Bellamy likes these spots, likes being able to keep an eye on all the entrances. He subconsciously counts how many people are there (five) how many of them belong to his people (one: Clarke), how many are skaikru (three: Jackson, Andrea, and Clarke), how many are potential threats (two sangedakru men he doesn’t know).

 

Clarke grabs what she needs, jotting down on a tablet everything she uses. They’re back on rations. Bellamy feels guilty only seeing the small bottle of disinfectant and the clean bandages that will be wasted on his stupid hand.

 

She sits down in front of him to look closer at his hand. Her breath feels cool as it ghosts over the feverish skin on his palm. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” Clarke’s voice is barely even a whisper.

 

“What do you mean?” he answers without moving his lips, even though nobody is close enough to hear.

 

“I know you, Bell. There’s something you’re working on. I just want to know what it is.”

 

“I am not working on anything.”

 

She raises an eyebrow and mouths "Josh."

 

“I’d rather talk about that when you aren’t holding a needle quite so close to me,” he tries to joke, but Clarke is dead serious. He’s already lied to the most important person in his life. Lying to Clarke shouldn’t feel like such a big deal. When he opens his mouth, though, what comes out is: “They’re planning something. I want to know what it is.”

 

Clarke nods. “Do you need help?”

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but they aren’t your biggest fans.” She smiles ducking her head. “I’ve got this.”

 

“Do you?” she asks, sobering. “You do have a tendency of putting yourself in danger.” He squeezes her hand with his left one.

 

“I know what I’m doing.”

 

The blonde stares at him for a full minute: “I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	6. FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bellamy has - unbeknownst to him - adopted all the children.  
> Also, sex.  
>  This is probably the kindest chapter in this thing.

Echo flings him against the concrete floor with a nearly imperceptible growl, pinning his writs over his head. Bellamy’s whole body shivers. He tips his hips and the spy’s breath stutters, her hold on his wrists loosening enough for him to escape her grasp. He grabs her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. There is nothing gentle about any of their movements, and he can barely keep a groan down.

Her back arches, teeth gritted and eyes rolling back into her skull.

Bellamy does it again, but can’t get a sound out of her. It’s infuriating, and he tells her so. The az spy just smiles and rakes her nails down his chest, dragging a low keening sound out of him. “I know,” is all that she says.

She grabs his wrists again when his hands wander up her torso, bends down and bites his bicep. Hard. She twists her hips just so. He can feel himself toeing the edge when she stills rising on her knees until she’s hovering over him. He nearly sobs. They’ve been at it for a while now, and Bellamy is almost desperate. But she keeps him right there, just a step away from ecstasy.

He takes a shuddering breath. Then another. And another.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re angry. Is it something I’ve done?” he drawls when he’s sure he can keep his voice from wavering.

“I’ve missed my sparring partner.”

“Are you punishing me?” he shouldn’t have let the teasing note slip into his voice. “I thought we had an open sparring relationship.”

“Oh, if I were punishing you, you’d notice.” Echo slams down hard, and for a moment, his brain shuts down. “This is just me,” her nails bite into his wrist. “Just making sure you understand.” She bends forward until her lips brush his ear and growl “I. Don’t. Take lightly. To. Being. Ignored,” punctuating every word with a very deliberate roll of her hips.

“Your line of work would suggest otherwise.”

Echo arches an eyebrow, but there is a shy smile teasing the corner of her eye.

 

***

 

When they finally finish, Echo collapses on top of him with a contented sigh. They stay there for a moment, basking in their respective afterglows. Then the spy rolls to the side and starts getting dressed.

Bellamy sighs and turns his back on her to get dressed, too.

Much like avoiding Clarke didn’t get him anywhere, avoiding Echo over the last three weeks hasn’t gotten him anything other than slightly hornier. And given the spy the satisfaction of getting the drop on him in one of the lowest levels for some _sparring_.

Bellamy’s lacing his boots when Echo asks. “Do you hate us?”

Her face is blank, but something in his gut tells him this is anything but a curious question. Bellamy straightens to look her in the eye. “I don’t. I couldn’t do this” he gestures vaguely between the two of them “if I hated you.”

She hums.

“Come on, Echo. Wasn’t it you who wanted us to trust each other?”

“Wasn’t it you who told me you’d never would?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth.

The truth is, fucking has never been the only thing they do in their secret meetings. She slips him information on the council, keeping him in the loop even after leaving the guard, and he tells her about what he finds out on different clans.

Azgeda’s alliance included only three out of the twelve clans of the original coalition, whereas trikru’s included seven and it’s no secret that azgeda’s and trikru’s animosity didn’t disappear with Praimfaya. The ice clan was powerful, because it was the biggest, with a large army and rich, fruitful lands. Now they’re just one hundred, like the rest of the clans, and that means they’d be very vulnerable, should someone turn against them.

“Don’t worry, Echo, you’re still my least favorite grounder.” She snorts. It’s a joke by now. They might not be friends, but he respects her, has come to understand her reasoning and value her loyalty. “But I’ll honor our agreement.”

“From one _loufa_ to another, be careful. There’s something brewing.”

“I’m trying to find out what that is.”

She nods, tightening her belt.

“You should broaden your target. There are whispers of a skaikru-trikru alliance, and I am not talking about your Chancellor and Indra’s friendship.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes.

“You think the Anti-Grounder Campaign has allied with trikru?”

“It would make sense. Enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“It doesn’t. Their talk is all about how grounders support each other, and we’re friendless and surrounded by all fronts.” He makes a mental note to keep an even closer eye on the members of Josh’s group, make sure they aren’t secretly meeting with grounders.

Echo pulls her hair back into a ponytail and starts braiding it with quick, deft fingers. “If I were organizing an uprising, and trying to keep my friends a secret, I would make sure my informants were inconspicuous. Somebody that can slip by undetected.” She ties the end of her braid with her silky dark green ribbon.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” If the spy is right, it might be the confirmation he needed about the shadowy puppeteer behind Josh’s operation. The shoemaker hates grounders, but he isn’t a mastermind capable of orchestrating something like that.

The warrior turns to go but stops by the door. “I’ll keep Clarke safe, should you be unable to.”

There’s something oddly solemn in the way she says that. Bellamy feels a surge warmth coursing through his veins. And they might not be friends, but they have each other’s back. From spy-master to spy-master. It shouldn’t feel as reassuring as it does.

“Thank you.”

“What are hated enemies for” she winks. “Just don’t get yourself killed. It would be a pain to have to find another sparring partner.” She leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

Bellamy’s pondering her words when he sits in the common room with Josh’s people. If somebody notices he is not paying attention, they don’t comment on it.

“You look sad,” says Laura, plopping on the empty spot next to him, and promptly jolting him out of his musings.

She’s attached herself to him, and Bellamy makes a point of keeping an eye on her, tucking her into her bed every day and telling her a goodnight story, looking for her if she isn’t in the common room half an hour before curfew.

“I’m not sad. I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Nothing important. How was your day? Did you do all your homework?”

“Yes.”

“What did you learn today?”

“Munipa had us play a grounder game in which we had to recognize leaves.” With very little prompting, Laura launches on a detailed description of the game and the rest of her day. She tells him about the kids in her class, what Agnes (boudalankru) and Vei (louwoda kiron) said; what Mattie (podakru) told Ethan (skaikru). Apparently, there has been a fight between Snotty-Ivar (azgeda) and Alba (yujleda). At that point, Laura bites her bottom lip.

“What is it?”

“Snotty-Ivar is usually an idiot. The other kids don’t like him because he’s very smart and always knows the answers to Munipa’s questions. But today… he was only being nice to Bam-bam.”

“Who is Bam-bam?”

“He’s the only kid from Podakru in my class. The others are mean to him because one of his legs doesn’t work right. That’s why they call him Bam-bam. Because he makes this noise when he walks. Step-Bam-step-bam. Anyway. Snotty-Ivar said that Bam-bam was really very brave because he had seen combat before any of us. And that it wasn’t his fault trikru cut his leg. He said that he was like Fayalida and that he should be proud of his injury. That’s when Alba said that he only liked the Fayalida, because his king had told him to. And when he said Alba was jealous his king was friends with the Fayalida, and that the Great Heroes would never be friends with the dumb Yujleda leaders, Alba punched him.” Laura plays with the hem of her shirt. “The other kids beat him, too.”

“All of them?”

“No. Bam-bam went to fetch the teacher. I wanted them to stop, because he might be a know-it-all, and smug all the time. But he was right this time. But I was afraid they’d beat me, too if I said something.”

Bellamy hugs the girl. “It is difficult to stand up to a group, when they’re all angry.” He remembers Murphy’s attempted hanging. Remembers thinking _this is wrong_ , and pushing the barrel from under the delinquent’s feet anyway. “And we cannot change what already happened. But we can try and be better tomorrow, than we were today. Learn from our mistakes.”

“But, maybe he deserved it, for…” she trails off.

“We cannot judge everyone by the bad choices of a few.”

Laura nods. “I know, but it’s hard.”

“I’m proud of you for trying. It’s something very brave to do.”

Her smile is blinding.

Bellamy wishes it could’ve been like this with Octavia: her telling him about her friends, her classes, her worries and her wishes. Confiding in him, letting him help her through the tough choices.

Instead, he was her jailer.

His ribs still from his sister’s beating.

Were all those times in their tiny room real? Her trust and love, would it still have existed had there been a chance for her to have other friends? The longer he spends on Earth, the longer he sees her flourish and grow out of his shadow, the less sure he is.

The curfew bell rings, and people start filing out of the common room.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

The orphans up to sixteen years sleep in a room three doors away from the bathrooms. There are a lot of kids that have lost their parents; friends or guardians took some of them, like Ethan, in. Others, like Laura, don’t have anyone and Bellamy’s heart breaks a little knowing he took the spot of one of their parents.

The room looks pretty much like all the bedrooms in the bunker: two lines of five bunk beds on each side of a corridor. The ones sleeping on the lower bunks have their trunks under the metallic frames; the chests on the top are at the feet of the beds. The kids have put a few pictures up on the gray walls. The screen of one of the ventilation shafts lies abandoned in a corner next to a box of salvaged toys.

Out of the twenty beds, thirteen are occupied. When Bellamy and Laura come in, most of the kids are already there. Three boys bounce a ball against the far wall, the youngest – a five-year-old girl- huddles in her blankets playing with a ragdoll. Bellamy has never heard her say a word.

Laura climbs into her bed, and Bellamy sits on the edge of the mattress. He’s vaguely aware of the other children scurrying to their beds. The repetitive slap of the ball against the wall disappears. Even the oldest – a fifteen-year-old boy named Huck, lies down for the story.

Bellamy tells them the tale of Medusa. When he’s done, the youngest are asleep. Huck looks at him from his bunk over the five-year-old girl.

“Is your sister a traitor for being with the grounders?”

Bellamy presses his lips into a line. He’s getting really sick of this whole traitor discourse, and yes, he’s undercover and shouldn’t risk his work, but.

But he already got a child killed for giving the wrong advice.

He looks around the room. There’s nobody here to rat him out to Josh’s people. Nobody to put his mission at risk, only this pale-faced and distraught teen in a room full of sleeping children. He comes closer. “No.” The mattress is at his eye level, and Bellamy has to tip his head back to look Huck in the eye. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” A beat. “There’s this boy… Sangedakru. We work together at the farm. He asked me out.”

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t want to become a grounder-fucker.” Bellamy arches an eyebrow and the boy blushes to the roots of his black hair. “Sorry.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Huck can’t look him in the eye.

“Yes.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Then it’s ok.” Or it should be. As soon as he finds a way to dismantle Josh’s operation it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loufa = spy
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	7. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who have been reading and leaving kudos and comments. You're truly the best.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that his assignment has been changed out of the deepest basement and up to the council-area. Bellamy isn’t happy about it, partly because he’s been very deliberately avoiding Kane ever since he resigned the guard. But mainly because he’s pretty sure, Josh’s people somehow orchestrated the transfer to gain him access to better information and the access codes to their coveted guns trove.

He sighs, unlocks the wheels on his little cart and pushes it towards the elevator. The council-area is comprised of a series of offices, meeting rooms, control rooms and private rooms in which the leaders of the bunker spend most of their time. Just like Alpha Station on the Ark.

Bellamy spent a lot of time in these halls when he was part of the guard. He and Clarke had the highest clearance and, for a month or so, they were expected to attend council meetings and take decisions that affected all of their people.

Just being back here puts his teeth on edge.

Bellamy starts with the office area because he knows that, at this time, everyone is probably still in bed. Most of the council members sleep here, too, probably because they’re all paranoid and fear the others will make deals behind their backs.

He sweeps and mops the floor, emptying trashcans and dusting desks. It’s as monotonous and boring as the boiler room’s filtration system, just with less suffocation risk. It doesn’t take long for the mindlessness of it has him nearly adrift, lulled into a fake sense of safety. He forgets where he is and why he didn’t want to be here in the first place; his mind wandering, wholly disengaged from what his hands are doing.

“Ah! Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy does not jump a foot in the air, but it’s a close call, his consciousness slamming back into his body, leaving his heart hammering against his ribs and his senses on high alert. The janitor turns to look at Jaha, forcing a neutral expression on his face and praying this conversation goes by as quickly as humanly possible. Ethan, the ex-Chancellor's adopted kid, cocks his head at Bellamy. “It’s so good to see you again.”

His grip tightens on the broom’s handle.

“I am sure it is.”

“There is no need for animosity, Mr. Blake.” The older man turns to the child at his side. “You see this man, Ethan? He is a hero.” He smiles, his eyes falling once more on Bellamy. “How have you been?”

“Peachy. What are you doing here?” he asks, gesturing to the door the ex-Chancellor has just stepped through.

“Just visiting the delightful Sana of Delfikru. I think you might be friends. You have a lot in common with her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jaha smiles. “Come on, Ethan. Time to get you to school.”

The pair starts down the corridor and towards the elevators that will take them down to the areas where the rest of the kru lives. Bellamy watches them. “How are you still here?” he blurts out without intending to. “How have you not stepped down after everything you’ve done?”

The ex-Chancellor blinks like he doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

“This is not the time to abandon our people.”

The man leaves with his infuriating little smile, and Bellamy fights the urge to throw his broom at his retreating head.

He knows his dislike for the man will forever muddy his perception of the ex-Chancellor. No matter how much Clarke tries to convince him, there’s a good man under that suave demeanor, a devoted father, and a good leader. The only thing he sees is the enforcer of the Exodus Chart, the man who could never know about Octavia, the man who brought ALIE into Arkadia, who tortured Clarke and Kane; a dangerous monster in sheep’s clothing.

“How is he any worse than us?” is Clarke’s usual argument. “We made the same choices, if not worse.”

“He’s convinced he had some righteous reason.”

“Don’t we all?”

_At the end of the day, nobody gives a damn about your reasons._

Bellamy knows it’s not something rational. If it were, Bellamy wouldn’t be able to stand Kane, either. Gods know the Kane has done some shitty stuff, too. But Bellamy respects Kane, looks up to him, trust him nearly as much as he trusts Clarke.

There’s something about Jaha that rubs him the wrong way.

“Bellamy!”

He jerks up from where he was crouching on the floor picking up a paper-ball. Kane smiles at him, striding closer. The janitor has to fight the urge to look for the exits. It’s too late to flee anyway. The Chancellor stops not two steps away from him, cornering Bellamy between the wall and his supply trolley. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

The man hums. “Not too busy to eat, I hope. Why don’t you join me for lunch? It’s nearly time already.” Kane puts a hand on his shoulder and Bellamy tries not to lean into the contact.

He fiddles with the handle on his broom. “It’s ok. I’ll go down to the mess hall later.”

Kane smiles. “No need for that. I already grabbed lunch for two. But Abby is eating with Clarke today.” The older man starts down the corridor towards his office. “Come on. The corridor will still be here when you come back.”

Bellamy sighs and follows him, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

Kane’s office is tidy. Economizing space was one of the first things one learned on the Ark, and it’s a habit that most of skaikru hasn’t shaken. A desk stands in the middle of the room, a couch against the wall to the left, a chest of drawers on the far end and a whiteboard to the right. On the desk a stack of papers, five folders, and two bowls.

“Come on in.” Kane takes his jacket off and plops into one of the chairs. He watches the janitor walk around the room, getting a feel of it before, slowly choosing a chair and sitting down. Bellamy knows he should’ve sat across from the chancellor, but that would’ve left him with his back to the door, and he can’t make himself do it.

He plays a little with his food, acutely aware of Kane’s eyes keeping track of his movements. The bowl is half full of a whitish paste. It smells funny, sweet and lemony. On the Ark, they had something like this kind of oatmeal. It was green and tasted – like many processed foods on the Ark – like rosins.

“How have you been?” the Chancellor asks conversationally.

“Fine.”

“You haven’t talked to Johanna.”

Bellamy’s eyes shoot up. The older man raises his hands in a placating manner. “I am not judging. We’re just having a friendly conversation here.”

“Have you been talking to Johanna?” his voice comes harsher than intended.

“I have. I don’t like it. But it helps.”

“It doesn’t help me.”

“Alright.”

“Fine.” He shoves a spoonful of the strange oatmeal into his mouth. It’s the first time he tries it. It’s not terrible, and he feels a prickle of irritation. If Kane picks up on it, he doesn’t comment.

They eat in silence for a while.

“So… Why did your sister beat you up this time?”

Bellamy’s head snaps up so quickly his whole brain rattles around his skull. Bellamy can’t read Kane’s thoughts: mouth slack and neutral, eyes soft, eyebrows encouraging.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There are a lot of security cameras in this place. It’s kind of unsettling. It is also beneficial.”  
Cameras. Bellamy feels so stupid for not having thought about those. Truth be told, he forgot about their existence. He’ll have to get himself a map of their distribution. He doesn’t have access to the footage – which would be great in finding out if Echo’s suspicions are correct.

“Are you going to answer the question?”

“Why not ask her?”

“I did. Now I am asking you.”

Bellamy pushes the bowl away, leaning back in the chair. The movement causes his ribs to throb. He ignores it. “Am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be? You are the one who got the beating.”

“Is O in trouble?”

Kane doesn’t answer. “I am worried about you.”

“There is no reason to worry.”

“There obviously is: you’re letting yourself get beaten. You’re lying to your friends…”

“I am not lying to anybody,” growls Bellamy rising from the chair. He doesn’t need to listen to this.

“You told Clarke you fell down the stairs.”

Red-hot anger rolls through his veins. He pushes it down with some difficulty. “Are you spying on me?”

“I am sleeping with Clarke’s mother. I was bound to find out.”

“Well stop it. I am not a child anymore. I can take care of myself. And, even if I were a child, I am not _your_ child. I’m not your responsibility.”

Kane takes a deep breath. “You are skaikru, and as such, you _are_ my responsibility. And of course, I worry! One of my brightest men step down from his position, is letting himself be beaten to a pulp and lying to everyone about it. Is refusing help. Is aligning himself with dangerous people. _Again_.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes. “You changed my assignment. You wanted to keep an eye on me.”

“Well, yes.”

“Is this because of my _alignment_ , because of O or because I stepped out of the guard?”

“It’s because I am afraid of what you will do. I am afraid you’ll walk down a path from which you cannot go back.”

Bellamy forces a crooked smile on his lips. “Been there, done that.”

“I am serious, Bellamy!”

“So am I. You want to help me? Leave me alone. I don’t need or want a dad.”

He pulls the door open. Hesitates a moment. He thinks maybe Kane will stop him. But the moment passes, and the Chancellor doesn’t say anything. Bellamy closes the door softly at his back.

 

He’s still angry hours later when he returns his supply cart. The mindlessness of the job having served only to give him time to go over the conversation with Kane over and over. He has finished earlier than usual, too, which adds to his overall piss-poor mood.

Bellamy wanders down the hall towards Raven’s workshop. It’s been too long since he sat with his friend, and he misses her. Last time they spoke, he hadn’t joined Josh’s campaign. He has been keeping his distance to not blow his cover, but he’s angry, his nerves raw and his eyes itchy with unshed tears. He wants to sit in Raven’s quiet workshop and be left alone, knowing there’s someone there who will have his back even if he drops his guard.

He reaches the room, letting himself in without knocking. It’s as cluttered and chaotic as last time he was here with shelves upon shelves filled with half-assembled electronics, boxes of scrap, what looks like the rover’s engine, screens and a million other knick-knacks he doesn’t have a clue of what they are. And in the epicenter: Raven’s workstation. The desk that was once against the wall has migrated to the middle of the room, a dozen stools surrounding it. Raven sits at the workstation, welding goggles perched high on her brow and her braced leg propped up on a wooden crate. Emori sits cross-legged on the desk fiddling with a screwdriver and something small and delicate that looks like a wind-up toy.

Bellamy feels himself relax instantly. Everything in this room makes him feel safe: the low light, the soft clink of metal on metal, the smell that is so _Raven_ , the feeling of quiet energy flowing like a tranquil river.

The two women haven’t noticed him here yet, but that’s ok. He knows Raven, she won’t mind him here, because, as she’s said many times his presence is “unobtrusive and lets her think.”

“Now you put the sound box in and tighten the screws,” explains Raven.

“Are you sure nobody will mind that I kept this?” Emori’s voice is quiet. He can hear her smile.

“They can shove it. You make it; you keep it. Or, you know. You give it to whomever.”

Leaning against a shelf rack, his eyes fall shut.

“Done.”

“Now let’s try it.” There’s the sound of a coil winding, and a metallic melody fills the little workshop. “It’s beautiful, Em.”

“You think he’ll like it?”

Raven snorts. “You could bring him a dead rat, and he’d love it.” There’s a pause, and Bellamy doesn’t need to open his eyes to feel the whole mood of the room shifting. Something about that statement must have hit a nerve because Raven stammers an apology and Emori’s voice’s strained when she answers. “Don’t worry about it, Raven… Oh! Bellamy.”

He looks up, summoning a sheepish smile. “Sorry to intrude…”

There isn’t time for anything else before Raven launches herself at him. Bellamy has enough presence of mind to throw his arm up to block the wrench in the mechanic’s hand before it collides with his face.

“Out!” shouts Raven, her face contorted in a grimace of disgust.

“What…?”

“Out of here!” the wrench collides with his biceps, it hurts but at least this time Raven doesn’t seem to want to kill him.

“Rae, it’s ok” calls Emori, scrambling off the desk.

“Get out of here!”

Bellamy backs away, dodging another hit from the wrench. The grounder manages to restrain the mechanic.

“What the hell, Raven?”

“Out of my workshop!”

He frowns, trying to understand.

He and Raven have been friends forever. Well, maybe not _forever_ , they’ve only really known each other for half a year, and they got off to a rocky start. But after the whole radio fiasco and the Finn fiasco, they became comrades and then friends. He doesn’t understand where this hatred comes from.

“It’s ok, Rae,” repeats Emori, restraining the mechanic.

Raven takes a deep breath through the nose. “What?” she spits at Bellamy. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to hang out?” his voice sounds unsure and pathetic.

“With a grounder-fucker like me?” snarls the mechanic, once again straining against Emori's hold. “Should I feel honored or something?”

He blinks. “What…? No! I…”

“Grounder hating scum isn’t welcome here. So, go the fuck away, before I tear you a new one!”

“Raven…” starts Emori, looking at Bellamy like a lost puppy.

He opens his mouth, but there’s nothing he can say. Not while he still hasn’t gotten all the answers he needs from Josh’s people.

Bellamy backs away and promptly flees Raven’s presence.

His feet take him straight to med bay. 

Jackson greets him with a smile he doesn’t feel like returning. “Ah! Has Harper told you?”

“Told me what?” he asks, curtly, harsher than he should.

Jackson shifts. “About Laura. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“What about Laura?” Bellamy's brain grinds to a halt

“She’s come down with the flu. Abby thinks it’s the flu. We’re keeping here tonight to make sure, and so we can keep an eye on her. She told Harper you were her caretaker and to call you.”

“I wasn’t in the skaikru quarters. I didn’t know.” Bellamy clears his throat. “Can I see her?”.

“Of course.”

Laura looks very small in her white hospital bed. She’s pale and sweaty, swatted in grayish blankets. “Hey.” She looks up with a smile. “Jackson told me you’re not feeling too hot.”

“They say I have the flu.”

“Have you been here long?”

She nods. “Since this morning. I was sick in Munipa’s class.”

Bellamy sits on the edge of the narrow hospital bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. They changed my assignment and Harper couldn’t find me.”

“It’s ok.”

“Are you feeling very bad?”

Laura shakes her head. “The doctor said the medicine will take effect this night, and tomorrow I will be good as new.”

“Ah, in that case, it’s like a holiday. You don’t have to go to class; you get to sleep without hearing Rico’s snoring.” Laura chuckles. “You get to spend time with the doctors.”

“I wanted to see Clarke,” confesses the girl. “She’s awesome. Plus, the kids would’ve been so jealous that I got to talk to Wanheda. Snotty-Ivar keeps going on about how his king is friends with her, but he never spoke to her.” Her smirk is positively impish. “I bet he would shit his pants if Clarke ever talked to him.”

Bellamy ruffles her hair. It’s damp with sweat, and his heart clenches uncomfortably. “So, did you get to spend time with Clarke? She has great bed-side manners.”

Laura pouts. “No. Dr. Griffin took her away, and they haven’t been back all day.”

“Bummer. Let's see if I can get her to come by first thing in the morning, ok?”

“That would be cool.”

Seeing her smile, even if she’s pale and sweaty and smells slightly of puke and disinfectant, warms his heart. Not for the first time, he is reminded of his sister. Growing up Octavia never had access to medicine, so she had to run her colds and fevers like in ancient times when there wasn’t vaccines or medicine that could cure these little diseases within a few hours. So, whenever she came down with something - something _he_ had brought into their quarters and infected her with – she would look like Laura did now. And Bellamy would sit by her bedside, playing cards or reading her stories, making jokes until she was crying with laughter and forgot that she was feeling like shit.

Laura will be ok come morning, but still, he sits by her bedside until Jackson kicks him out of the med bay to let her sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting ^^


	8. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I lied before: this is probably the kindest I've been to Bellamy. 
> 
> It won't last.

Bellamy’s exhausted, angry and sad when he plops down on his cot that evening. It’s early, so the room is empty, his roommates preferring to spend their time elsewhere.

Most of skaikru share bedrooms, since there weren’t enough for everyone to sleep on their own. Bellamy shares his with five other men since he isn’t in a relationship, nor does he have children. The bunks were assigned by the Chancellor and separated by sex to avoid inconveniences. Bellamy knows it was a good idea, practical, like every decision taken on the Ark. Smaller rooms for two up to four people were given to people with romantic partners – again, to avoid inconveniencing roommates – and families with small children – not that there are many of those. The only problem with this arrangement is that most of the people Bellamy trusts to watch his back while he sleeps are either in a relationship or women. So the irritation just keeps adding to the exhaustion of sleeping with one eye open for months.

Bellamy lies on his face, anger and annoyance taking over once again as his conversation with Kane and his confrontation with Raven start to play over and over in his brain again. Half a minute later he’s riled up, wide-awake and crossly turning on his back to stare at the metallic grid of the cot above his. He isn’t sure how long he’s been glowering at the rusty bottom of the bed when he catches a tentative movement out of the corner of his eye. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to jerk up and grab the knife hidden in his boot. Pointedly, he turns his head to scowl at the newcomer.

Clarke stands at the foot of the bed next to his, her face blotchy and eyes glassy and puffy. “Hi,” she whispers, and her uncharacteristic uncertainty has him sitting up.

“What happened?”

She shrugs, her eyes skipping down and fixing on the tips of her boots. “Can I stay here a while?”

He scoots over without even thinking and Clarke pads closer, deliberately sitting on the edge of the mattress to slowly undo her laces. She toes the boots off and then just continues to sit there, immobile with his back to him. When she fails to move after a whole minute, Bellamy sneaks an arm around her middle and pulls her back. For an awkward few seconds, they squirm to find a comfortable position. Then Clarke turns around to look at him, her knees pressed against his and her hands pillowing her face. From up close he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

This is the closest they’ve been since the med bay, both of them careful not to blow his cover. Right now, nothing could be farther from his mind than Josh and his machinations.

Bellamy brushes a strand of golden hair behind her ear. If his fingers linger at her jaw longer than necessary, she doesn’t comment. Clarke’s skin is always cold. Today she’s also clammy, her hair sticking to the nape of her neck. Her too-blue eyes search his face like she’s trying to memorize him. It’s scary.

“Hey” his voice is a barely-there whisper, “talk to me. What is it?”

She sighs, nuzzling against the hand still against her cheek. Out of its own volition, his thumb brushes the tear tracks on her cheek. Her whole face seems to crumble in slow motion: lips quivering, eyebrows pulling together, eyes welling up. When he scoots closer, pulling her in against his chest, she’s sobbing, hiding her face in his threadbare shirt.

“I’m. Just. So. Tired.” Clarke hiccups each word, her shoulders shaking in his arms. “All. The Time.” her hiccups get a little higher. “And. Now. I. Can. Not. Stop. Hic. Hic. Uping.” She glares at him when her high-pitched hiccups draw a snort out of him. Her mouth pulls into a frown, the next second a hiccup has erased it, and Bellamy chuckles again. “Don’t. Laugh. Asshole.”

Bellamy bites back another low, sad laugh and kisses the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

She hiccups again, pouting. “It’s not funny.”

“I know… But it was you who said we would be able to sleep after Praimfaya.”

She looks up at him. Tears frozen on her cheeks; red, runny nose, and so close, she is a little cross-eyed. Still, she’s the most gorgeous woman Bellamy has ever seen.

Something in his chest aches.

“Way to kick a girl when she’s down.”

Bellamy snorts again, and, this time, a tentative smile appears at the corner of her lips.

Her eyes drop and, when she speaks, her warm breath fans over his collarbone. “Do you think we’ll ever _not_ be afraid anymore?”

 _Wouldn’t know how that feels_. The words are halfway up his throat when he notices they are not entirely accurate. There are times when he’s not afraid; rare, beautiful moments in which he feels safe, capable of overcoming any obstacle. This is one of those.

“I think… we should take what we can get.”

She hums, and the ghost of her breath on his skin loosens the tightness of his shoulders. After a few minutes of silence, when he’s convinced she’s fallen asleep, her voice stirs him from the doze. “I feel terrible.”

“Mm… Why?”

“Last time I was able to sleep a full night was in the stairwell. If I hadn’t slept so tightly, I might have woken you up sooner.”

“You haven’t slept a whole night through since the stairwell? It’s been like… a month.”

Clarke snorts and squirms back, just enough for her to look back up at him. “Of course, you would focus on that.”

Bellamy tugs her head under his chin. “You need to sleep.” And is rewarded with her soft laugh as she squirms back to look at him. She’s still smiling, when she runs her freezing fingers over the dark rings under his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

Once again, they lapse into a comfortable silence. Overhead the lights buzz and the air filtration systems hum. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s back on the Ark. Things were easier back then.

Bellamy cards his hands absently through her hair, it’s soft, and the way it seems to flow between his fingers is very soothing.

“My mom ambushed me this afternoon. Pulled me from work and had me sitting with her for hours.” Pause. “I think something is broken. Alone the fact that she had disrupted the routine of the day had me on edge.” Clarke’s drawing patterns on his shirt, he can feel every line branding his skin. “But I couldn’t tell her that. Because she would’ve been upset and… It’s so childish. So I sat with her even though my skin crawled and my eyes watered for no reason. She wanted me to eat, but my throat was closing, and I couldn’t breathe. She wanted to talk, kept asking all these questions. At some point, I think I snapped, and…” she shrugs. “I think I said a lot of things, bad things, but I can’t remember any of them. The only thing I remember is feeling cornered and under pressure.” Her breath comes out in a rush. “I can’t talk to my own mother anymore.”

Bellamy runs his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t think you’re broken.”

“Everyone else is moving on. I spoke to Monty the other day, and he’s better; Harper and Miller, too. It’s just me.”

“I’m not,” he whispers under his breath, and a crushing weight he hadn’t noticed seems to lift off his shoulders. “I’ve been…” he swallows back the shame. This is Clarke, he can tell her anything. They trust each other, no matter how fucked up, or how stupid. “I have developed a fear of the dark.” Bellamy pushes out a deprecating chuckle he doesn’t feel. Even if he can’t feel anything but ashamed, Bellamy knows Clarke won’t think any less of him. “I can hear everyone I’ve failed and, whenever I’m alone in the dark, they come for me. And I can’t make them go away.”

“Hey. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m…”

“I swear to god, Bellamy, if you say you’re not worth it, I’ll kick your ass.” Her feisty, slightly cross-eyed expression tears another laugh from his throat, an honest one this time. “You will always be worth it.”

“You deserve better.”

“So do you.” She settles in his arms. Her head fits perfectly under his jaw, her breath soothing against his collarbones, her small fingers curled into his shirt.

Bellamy closes his eyes and buries his nose in her hair.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he feels safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting. You make my day :D


	9. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light angst because we all know that's what you're all here for

Ever since he was a little boy, Bellamy woke up instantly. One second he was fast asleep, the next he was wide-awake and ready for the day. Aurora and Octavia never managed to do the same. They were grumpy first thing in the morning, liked to laze around in bed and took a long time to stand up. Which usually meant that, by the time they woke, Bellamy had already tidied their little living quarters and prepared some stale protein bars for breakfast. Bellamy was used to waking up with hair in his mouth and some pointy appendage digging into his kidney.

This morning, when he jerks awake, just managing to escape the monster’s claws, the familiar feeling of a knee pressed against the back of his thighs has him momentarily disoriented. For a few blissful heartbeats, he’s back on the Ark, Octavia at his back having inched him to the edge of their narrow cot, and his mother’s snores mixed with the air filtration system’s hum.

Then he remembers where he is, and he has to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes.

There’s a hand splayed on his sternum. In the dim light of the emergency exit sign, it glows pearly white. It looks so small when he takes it in his; her nearly translucent skin still a stark contrast from his, even though he’s a lot paler now than he was two months ago. Absently he traces the blue-green veins. Her hand is warmer than it was yesternight but still cold.

Bellamy takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of Clarke pressed against his back, her breath on his skin and her hand in his.

He should get out of bed.

“You are thinking too loudly,” mumbles Clarke, her words fanning over his shoulders like a blanket. Clarke’s voice first thing in the morning is gruff and thick like it’s being dragged out of a cavern against its will.

Careful not to fall out of bed, he turns around. She makes a sound of protests and opens her eyes. First thing in the morning, illuminated only by the emergency exit sign, Clarke’s eyes are small rings of blue-gray surrounding obsidian pools. “Good morning.”

She smiles, soft, unguarded and warm. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock.” He’s more rested than he’s been in a long time.

“Yeah, me too. This feels nice. We should do it more often.“

Bellamy chuckles.

“I am serious.”

“Let’s not push our luck.”

Clarke sighs but says nothing, a finger tracing the silvery scar on his cheekbone. “Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Not running away.”

He frowns for a moment. Then he remembers Dax, the bunker full of guns, how he attempted to teach her to shoot before realizing she didn’t need him. The whole point of that expedition had been to get an excuse to flee camp and the looming threat of Jaha coming down to earth. He remembers their heart-to-heart under the stars and how for a blissful moment he wasn’t alone. They weren’t friends back then; there wasn’t a reason in the world why she should’ve cared about him. Why she should’ve been that kind and…

“I don’t regret it,” he says, and it’s the truth. He bites his bottom lip. “Do you regret running away?”

Clarke mulls it over, frowning down at his chin. “Sometimes.” She pauses. “I regret not being there for you. I regret not staying to try and mend things with Jasper…”

“If you had the chance to make it all over… Would you stay?”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek. Her sigh is like an explosion. “I honestly don’t know.” Bellamy nods. He doesn’t have a reason to feel betrayed. “Are you mad?”

“No.” His smile is a little hollow. “Thank you. For being honest with me.”

“We don’t lie to each other.” She says with such vehemence he has to chuckle.

“No, we don’t.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “We should get going.”

Clarke groans and he pinches her side. Her laugh is like honey, and he wants to drown in it.

Somewhere to his left someone snaps at them to be quiet. Clarke slinks out of his grasp and towards the door. Bellamy takes his toiletry bag and a fresh set of clothes. When he pads out of his room, Clarke is waiting for him, having rushed to her room to retrieve her own towel and change of clothes. It’s too early, and there’s nobody on the corridor. The shower in separate stalls, but brush their teeth side by side, shoving each other out of the way to get to the faucet and to spit on the same sink. It feels only natural that he would reach out to brush her hair out of her face when she nearly spits her toothpaste on it. Or that they sip out of the same cracked glass. “Your hair is getting too long.” The blonde comments putting her things back into her gray bag while he shaves.

Bellamy answers with a grunt.

The truth is he has never cut his hair. When he was little, his mom did it for him. Then his sister. For the few months, O was in the skybox; he let his hair grow wild and just gelled it back when it got too long. When they landed on earth, O teased him endlessly and then proceeded to cut it for him in a secluded corner of the dropship. Bellamy isn’t sure how to ask for someone else to do it for him and knows O will probably just slice his throat open if he asks.

“Will you go talk to Laura before she’s discharged?” Bellamy asks. “She wants to brag about talking to you to her friends.”

Clarke smiles. She’s braiding her hair. “Yeah, no problem.”

They are at the door when the curfew ends, and the door opens.

_NO SKAIKRU NOUMOU_

Bellamy stares at the phrase that boldly painted next to the mess hall’s door; his hands white-knuckled around his cart’s handle. It’s still too early in the morning, so there are no people around yet, but there soon will be, and this is the last thing he needs right now.

After over a month of undercover, he’s nowhere near finding out who Josh’s puppet master is, hasn’t managed to slip into the ex-shoemaker’s inner circle, can’t seem to get the man to trust him and Bellamy can’t figure out _why_. And what is worse: the Anti-Grounder Campaign has grown to nearly half of skaikru’s population. The mandatory lessons and increasing paranoia bringing people flocking to Josh’s side. Which means that an anti-skaikru group started brewing among the grounders.

Bellamy dips his sponge in soapy water and scrubs at the graffiti, starting with the very obvious handprint at the bottom of the last U.

There is no need for anyone to jump to conclusions about who left the hate message. Skaikru’s animosity towards Azgeda is obvious enough as it is. He has to talk to Echo. If this is truly Azgeda’s actual standpoint, he’ll have to stop tangling with the literal enemy.

If not… Well, four eyes see better than two.

“Someone doesn’t like us, go figure.”

The janitor turns to see Murphy accompanied by two other kitchen workers. The woman on his left has white dreadlocks and is missing half an ear; the man on his left has a calmness about him that reminds Bellamy of Lincoln.

“Don’t worry, _strik räv_ ” grumbles the calm man very deliberately telegraphing the movement of his hand before laying it on Murphy’s shoulder. “We will not let anything happen to you.”

“ _Sha_ , you still need to teach me how to make your salad dressing.”

Murphy’s crooked smirk is smug and satisfied. “I am feeling slightly used here.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Murphy’s eyes find Bellamy’s. “There is no point in trying to erase it. They’ll find out one way or another.”

“Like right now,” comments the woman with the dreadlocks jutting her chin to the corridor behind Bellamy.

Sure enough, people are coming to the mess hall to get breakfast before starting their daily routines.

“We should make ourselves scarce.” The tall grounder looks at Bellamy with the softest eyes the janitor has ever seen. “So should you.”

The three hurry into the kitchens through a side door, leaving him alone with his soggy sponge against the wall. The hand is still prominent: red paint against gray concrete.

He turns his back to the corridor and continues to scrub at the persistent paint. What the hell did they use to put it here?

The first skaikru to stop in front of the graffiti is Peter, from Josh’s inner circle. “Why are you trying to cover for the grounders?” sneers the man at Bellamy yanking the sponge out his hand and flinging it to the other end of the hall. The sudden outburst naturally attracting the attention of passersby, many of which –somehow- hadn’t even noticed the big bold letters scribbled on the wall. “On whose side are you?”

“I’m on your side, and you know it,” Bellamy grumbles through gritted teeth, his exhaustion returning with a vengeance.

Peter narrows his eyes at him like a snake studying a particularly tasty-looking rodent. “Then why cover the grounder’s feelings about us? Don’t you think the people have a right to know?” He shoves him out of the way so that the handprint under the U is appropriately visible for everyone. “Why are you doing Kane’s bidding?”

“Because it so happens that it’s _my job_ ” growls Bellamy feeling increasingly cornered.

“Convenient for everyone involved isn’t it. Especially for that grounder-pounding bitch.” Bellamy has had to hear that sentence enough times to know he’s talking about Clarke. He’s also managed to develop the self-restraint to not start a brawl over petty name-calling, no matter how sick it makes him. Peter’s breath is hot against his ear. The man positively purrs the next sentence and Bellamy’s heart stops. “But then again you were always a follower. The good little knight by his queen’s side. Too bad you were never that devoted to Gina.”

He sees red.

Then he blinks, and he is being hauled off Peter, his knuckles bloody and aching. Kane steps between him and the man holding his face, blood gushing between his fingers. Someone jabs a needle into his neck. The last thing he sees before he’s plunged into darkness is the Chancellor’s disappointed frown.

He can see the monster’s smile in the darkness, its thousand voices growling and purring around him. Bellamy can only cower in fear, covering his ears with his hands like he did when he was little. “I am not afraid,” mumbles a terrified child.

 _Oh, but you are,_ purrs the monster.

 _How did my beautiful boy become this?_ Asks his mom’s voice. _A murderer. A traitor. I raised you to be better than this._

***

Bellamy jolts awake just in time to be powerfully sick over the side of the narrow wooden cot he’s lying on. His temple throbs in time with his heartbeat and when he touches it, it feels tender. Carefully he sits up, fighting a new wave of nausea, and looks around.

He’s in one of the cells in the detention area: two rows of small squares fenced off with tall barred walls lining a long narrow corridor. The room is empty, but for Monty sitting on a plastic chair, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Bellamy spits on the floor. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough for you to sleep the tranq off. What happened?”

Bellamy shrugs one shoulder scooting back on his narrow wooden cot until his back touches the wall. “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s not good enough! Peter has lost three teeth. And I’m pretty sure his nose was broken, too.” Bellamy drops hi eyes to the floor so that he doesn’t have to deal with Monty’s disappointment. “You’ve always been smarter than that. So, what happened?” He doesn’t answer, picking instead at the still tender wound on his right hand. “You need to get your shit together.”

Monty’s right.

But then he feels Peter’s breath against his ear, can nearly smell his halitosis, see his smile as he spoke with Raven’s words. But how did he know? How could he use her _exact words_?

Bellamy digs his nails into his palms.

Monty’s right.

“I think… I think this…” he swallows the rest of the sentence. The words feel wrong.

Monty is right. He needs to get his act together. Clearly sparring the anger away and working undercover isn’t working. He’s too volatile if they can set him off by pushing a few right buttons.

What does it matter that some jackass knows about his feelings for Clarke? That they know about the guilt, he’s hauling around?

 _Of course, that’s nothing compared to killing your own mom_.

Bellamy tramps that thought as hard as he can, but the monster in the darkness is growling in delight. _You might as well have just shoved Aurora out of the airlock yourself._

What would he have done if Peter had said those words instead?

“You’re right.” He tries to ignore the darkness lurking. “I’ll get my shit together.”

Monty sighs. Clarke was right: he looks better than he did when they first close the bunker’s doors.

“Look, I know that we have done terrible things. But we can’t let that be what defines us. You told us that we had to be fighters to survive.”

Bellamy chuckles without humor. “I also told Charlotte to slay her demons. Ended up killing Wells.” He raises his eyes to the young man’s face, just for a moment lest he drowns in his dark eyes. “I am not a very good advice-giver.”

“You kept us alive this long.”

“Tell that to Jasper.” Monty flinches, his face going pale and Bellamy feels instantly guilty for the cruel jab. The weight is back on his shoulders, crushing his ribs and bending his back. The nearly joyful freedom he felt while working to get closer to Josh and his people has vanished, plunging him again into an ice-cold sea of muted colors, crippling fear and asphyxiating shame. “Or to Fox, Roma, Finn…”

“Look” Monty rakes his hands through his closely cropped hair – when did that happen? – “I know we’ve lost…”

“Do you know how may people I’ve killed since I got to Earth?” Monty presses his lips together into a white, frustrated line and Bellamy knows this trip down self-pity-lane is pathetic. He should shut up, suck it up and do his fucking job. He should swallow it down and keep going like the rest of his people. Keep being useful. Earning his keep. Proving he deserves to be in the bunker. Instead he’s sitting in a holding cell, unloading his crap on Monty, who doesn’t deserve or need to hear about this. “One thousand, seventy-five. One thousand, five hundred and thirty-eight if you count all the skaikru people that didn’t make it into the bunker. And don’t tell me that there wasn’t enough room. Because the truth is, I killed them when I saved twenty prisoners in Farm Station. From which only eight made it into the bunker anyway. So, don’t tell me how I’ve kept you alive, because I had one job…”

“Your job was to protect your sister.”

Bellamy snorts. Looks up at the ceiling, which is more manageable than looking at Monty. There’s a jagged crack in the plaster.

“But I didn’t, did I?” his voice is barely above a whisper. He feels like he’s choking. “She was so big when she was born. I know she probably wasn’t, but she looked huge in my arms. Was heavy, too. I could barely hold her. Her eyes were this pale gray, and she had the softest skin. I knew at that moment that she was the most important person in the whole world. And then I proceeded to keep her hidden like some dirty secret, like something to be ashamed of. She begged and nagged to be left free, but I didn’t. I pushed her under the floor. I sealed the door and vents, reducing the oxygen in our compartment by a 23%, risking her development, her life. I had her thrown into the Sky Box. I got her lover killed. Atom, too. And no matter what I do, I keep breaking that promise.”

“Bellamy…”

He rolls his head on the wall, too drained even to lift it properly. The bell announcing the start of the first work shift interrupts Monty. The older man smiles. “You should go. That chair cannot be comfortable, and you have probably more important things to do than babysit me.”

Monty looks unsure. Then he stands up and wanders towards the door, shoulders hunched and head downcast. He stops before he reaches it. “You are not alone, Bellamy. And Josh and his people, are not the answer,” he adds halfheartedly.

He nods, plastering a half smile on his lips, trying to reassure his friend. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll be fine, Monty. Don’t worry about me.”

Monty looks like he wants to say something else. He leaves instead.

Bellamy remains sitting in his little cell, and maybe this is the actual punishment. Having to spend the day here, alone with his poisonous thoughts until someone – Kane, probably – comes and gives him a stern talk-to about fighting.

He presses his knees against his chest, shying away from the monster and its thousand voices.

For a while, he managed to keep it at bay. Working on gaining Josh’s trust did the trick for a while, but today it’s back with a vengeance, and he feels like it’s sitting on his chest, like it’s gnawing at his wrists, purring in his ear and scratching down his spine.

He doesn’t understand. The light should keep it at bay. But here it is, grinning in the corner of his eye, slithering between the bars like an oily snake. Purring: _murderer. Assassin. Traitor._

Bellamy screws his eyes shut, burying his face between his knees, fighting for air, but the monster laughs, digs its claws into his chest and he can’t breathe.

_…Suffer. You owe us that. You want the peace of death. You think you deserve to be free of your pain? Do you deserve that gift?_

“Bellamy!”

His head snaps up. Kane stands suddenly in front of the wooden cot in the cell, his hand heavy on Bellamy’s back. The Chancellor’s worried eyes so intense, he feels a bright flare of shame.

The janitor clears his throat, checking his position and deliberately pushing his feet off the cot, unhooking his clawed fingers off his knees, straightening his spine.

Kane’s expression doesn’t change as he sits beside him on the bench, his nearness both soothing and unnerving.

Silence reigns for a moment in the little cell.

“Why did you beat that man up?” asks Kane quietly. Kindly.

Bellamy muses over the answer. Clarke’s words come to mind. _I think I’m broken_. Except, the mere thought of saying that out loud turns his stomach. If he’s broken, what use is he to Kane? To the delinquents? To Laura? If he’s broken, how can he keep going, knowing he’s usurped the place of someone who _wasn’t_?

He can’t be. He _won’t_. He’ll swallow it down; he’ll pull himself together and continue doing his job.

If he hasn’t completely blown his cover, that is.

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“I am not asking what you should have done. I am asking why you did it.”

Octavia’s words come to mind. Her being the person that knows him best in the world, she has always been the one to see straight through him, to know the ugly truth he tries to hide deep inside. “I lashed out.”

“Why?”

“I got scared. He… He knows…” Bellamy clears his throat. “He caught me unawares. It won’t happen again.”

The silence feels oppressive, but, at least, Kane’s presence keeps the monster at bay. Bellamy fights the urge to burrow into his side like a child.

“Why did you join Josh’s people?”

“They aren’t Josh’s.” Bellamy sees Kane frown out of the corner of his eye. There is a loose thread in his pants; he picks at it to have something to do with his hands. “That’s why I joined them. I wanted to find out who was behind the whole operation. To dismantle it once and for all.” To bring him to you, to prove once and for all…

“To protect your people.”

“My people happen to be on the receiving end of the Anti-Grounder Campaign.”

Kane sighs tiredly. “You were working undercover.”

“It’s what _loufa_ does.”

There’s a moment of disquieting silence, and then Kane chuckles. It’s a dark, disbelieving, unhappy sound. “You alienated your friends, let your sister beat you to…” Kane bites back an exasperated sound dragging his hands over his bearded face. “Bellamy, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you. You didn’t have to do that alone…” Pause. “But you didn’t. Clarke knows.” It isn’t a question, so he doesn’t answer. “Who else?”

“Echo.”

Another lengthy silence.

“Bellamy” Kane’s hand is heavy on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

He doesn’t know. There is no logical reason why he didn’t go to the Chancellor with his doubts and his fears. What did he accomplish? In the long run, what good did it do to his people? He feels a spike of disgust as he is forced to admit that the only reasons why he didn’t were utterly selfish.

“I wanted to be useful again.” He says lamely because _it felt good, I felt like myself again,_ is too shameful.

“You are useful.” There’s a strange emphasis in Kane’s words; an earnestness that has him chocking for air. He wants to tell him everything, but can’t find his words. The Chancellor doesn’t push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words in trig:   
> strik räv = little fox  
> sha = yes  
> loufa = spy
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting


	10. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Bellamy with children. Because it's cute, ok?

Kane doesn’t keep Bellamy in lock-up for the night, something he’s extremely grateful for. Still, it’s nearly curfew when he steps into skaikru’s sector; feeling wrung dry and exhausted. He knows he should go and apologize to Peter, but he goes into the orphan’s bedroom instead. Most of the children aren’t there yet, just Huck sitting with the little five-year-old playing go fish. The little girl’s smiling and Bellamy’s heart melts a little when he sees that.

Then Huck raises his head, and he sees a black eye that wasn’t there yesterday.

“What happened?”

The little girl tenses at the sound of his voice but relaxes a when she sees Bellamy.

The teenager shifts uncomfortably on his bed.

“I got into an argument.”

“With who?”

Huck shrugs one shoulder and drops his eyes. “The Anti-Grounder Campaign?” he smiles sheepishly. His lip is split. “They found out about Kai and me. Weren’t too happy about it.” Bellamy swallows the lump in his throat, the anger burning through his veins, the urge to protect – avenge – this kid. “You aren’t part of them, are you?” There is so much hope in his eyes, something in Bellamy’s chest twists uncomfortably. “You’re just playing along to get information for Kane, right?”

The five-year-old cocks her head to the side, watching him with curiosity. He wants nothing but to reassure him. But something feels off, so he smiles and asks: “Have you seen Laura?”

Huck watches him for a moment and then shrugs again.

“She’s probably looking for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bellamy’s nearly at the door when the teenager speaks again. “You should be careful. We all know about Pike.”

Bellamy frowns, opens his mouth to ask what he means, but is interrupted by Laura’s arrival. She looks better than she did yesterday. “Bellamy?”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Good.” She smiles, bright and happy. “Dr. Griffin told me to go back tomorrow for a checkup. But I should be fine.” She hops into her bed. He sits down on the edge of the mattress.

“How was school today?”

Laura is giddy and overexcited as she tells him how jealous Snotty-Ivar was that she had gotten to speak with Clarke. The young girl gushes how awesome Wanheda is, how she even walked her to the classroom and Laura got her to stay with the children for a while. “Snotty-Ivar couldn’t even speak to her, he only stammered his name and was all flushed, and when Dr. Griffin left, he was so angry, he started crying.”

“All good fun, I see.”

“Well, if it weren’t for Ethan and his cronies. They kept muttering Wanheda was a traitor to her people.” Laura frowns. “But she isn’t, is she? Even if she’s friends with the Az-King.”

“Clarke has done more for skaikru than anyone else. Either inside or outside this bunker.”

“Even you?” Bellamy looks up, suddenly noticing that he has an audience. A group of children perched on top of the bed under the grate-less ventilation shaft – he makes a mental note to fix it -; Huck and the little five-year-old girl have stopped playing– the cards forgotten in their hands. There is a pair of girls lying together in the bottom bunk next to the door.

Somewhere the curfew bell rings. One of the older girls – Bea, sixteen – closes the door to the noise from the hall.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it,” says one of the boys under the ventilation shaft. Ethan is up there, too, even though he isn’t supposed to. “You killed the army.”

Bellamy smiles to hide the shudder that runs down his spine.

“We are all aware that killing isn’t a good thing, right?”

“If it keeps you alive,” says Bea with a shrug.

“Yes, killing on the ground was sometimes necessary. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only solution, or that we need to keep doing it down here. Clarke protected skaikru not only killing her enemies but also by negotiating, by bargaining and making treaties.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “If it hadn’t been for diplomacy, the twelve stations would’ve never survived. It’s kind of what the clans have done with the bunker. By joining together, we’ve ensured the survival of the human race.”

“Don’t let him fool you, kids.” On the doorway stands Clarke, her hand still resting on the doorknob. Her eyes are tired, smile frayed at the edges, but her voice is kind and sweet. “Bellamy’s the one who convinced the clans to share. Everyone would’ve died if it hadn’t been for him and his silver tongue.”

He feels himself blush and clears his throat to hide the flustered feeling knotting his stomach. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice only slightly strained.

“I need to talk to you.” She looks around the room. “I’ll be in the common room when you finish here.”

Bellamy nods, the blonde looks at the children with a smile. “Good night.”

The janitor takes his time telling them the story of the spinner Arachne and Athena. When he finishes, the room has the sleepy quietness of slumbering children and dozing teens. He goes around the room, picks the five-year-old off Huck’s bed and settles her in her own. She shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. On the bed under the air duck sleep four kids. He takes them one by one to their respective beds. None of them is Ethan. He checks all the beds, but Jaha’s adopted kid is nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped out when he wasn’t looking.

On the bed next to the door, the two teens are entwined. “Mae,” he whispers. “Come on, time to go to your bed.”

Mae grunts. The other girl – Virginia - opens one eye. “She can stay,” Virginia whispers, settling more comfortably against Mae. “There’s room enough for both.”

“You sure?”

Virginia closes her eyes again with a muttered. “Yes, _dad_.”

Bellamy feels a small smile tugging at his lip. He arranges the raspy blankets over them, tucking them in and leaves as quietly as possible, turning the light off and closing the door behind himself.

Clarke is waiting for him in the deserted common room clad in her loose sleeping shirt and shorts; her hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She sits in a battered armchair under the only lamp that remains on, bare legs thrown over the armrest and sketchpad resting on her thighs. She frowns in concentration, bottom lip caught between her teeth as the pencil glides over the paper.

Bellamy was aware that she drew. He knows she made the map to mount weather, has seen some of her sketches. But he never saw her actually sit down and draw. Never witnessed the relaxed curve of her shoulder and that laser-sharp focus, the precise movement of her fingers as she very deliberately puts lines on paper. It seems private, and he feels like he’s intruding.

Bellamy’s raising his hand to knock on the wooden frame when her blue eyes look up. She sets her pencil down but doesn’t move. “Was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Had to put the children to sleep first.”

She smiles at something private; eyes so soft, they look like he could live in their warmth forever. A terrifying thought flashes in his mind, and he clears his throat, stepping closer and sitting on the couch next to her armchair. “How are you not helping Munipa teach them? You would be a great teacher.”

Bellamy doesn’t fight her on that. Not because he thinks he would be a particularly good teacher – he’s only telling them stories, after all – but because Clarke has that look about her. There’s no use in fighting her when she has that look. It feels nice that she thinks so highly of him.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Clarke looks around the empty room. Stands up and closes the door, standing there, engulfed in shadow, with her back to him for a whole minute. “You need to stop.”

Bellamy sits back, crossing his arms over his chest, mouth set into a frown. “Why?” There is no point in asking what she’s talking about, they both know.

“Because it’s dangerous, you haven’t found out anything we didn’t already know and…” she shifts her weight, her blue eyes intent on him. “It’s hurting you.” She says it like a challenge. Throws the words deliberately at his feet and dares him to deny it.

Bellamy takes a moment to think. This is not coming out of nowhere, Clarke isn’t gullible and innocent, she’s used to taking risks, and she always believed in him, trusted him to deliver no matter how hard the task. So he needs to find out what is going on. Why the sudden change of heart. This morning everything seemed fine.

“I’ve done more dangerous shit, and you know it.” Josh’s people might be assholes, but they won’t kill him. The worst they’ll do if they find out about him is giving him a beating and kick him out of their group.

“But this risk is idiotic, can’t you see?”

“What risk?” he searches her eyes. “They won’t do anything to me. Come on, Clarke.”

She purses her lips.

“They are violent, and you know it.”

“Everyone is. That’s kind of the world we are living in.”

She huffs, looks around the room, changing her approach. “You are nowhere near getting into their inner circle, and it’s been weeks.”

“It takes time to gain someone’s trust.”

“Not you. You have a natural talent for getting people to trust you.”

Bellamy feels the compliment warming his blood, and he has to look away. “I might not have been on top of my game lately.”

“That’s what I am saying.” She comes closer, crouching down on the floor at his feet, looking up with those big blue eyes. Her hand is freezing on his knuckles. “We need a different approach. We need… Do you smell smoke?”

Bellamy jumps to his feet, rushing out of the common room, Clarke scrambling behind him. The lights on the hall turn on automatically, momentarily blinding him. He searches both sides of the corridor. He sniffs the air, trying to discern where the smell comes from. His eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light.

Smoke curls around the ceiling down the hall, shyly slipping through the crack between door and lintel.

The door to the orphan’s bedroom.

Bellamy’s heart stops.

 

 


	11. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to @temporarystatus for helping me decide it wasn't too soon for this chapter ;D

Bellamy isn’t aware of his body as it tears down the corridor. His whole world narrows down to that door. He kicks it open but doesn’t hear it slamming against the wall. He rushes inside. His voice rough and muffled in his ears. He sees the children waking up. He sees Virginia’s mouth open, but can’t hear her.

“Get them out of here!” he barks.

He scans the room for the source of the fire. Huck jumps from his bunk. The bed under the ventilation shaft is engulfed in flames. Bellamy moves without thinking. Two boys rush past him from the farther beds. Blindly he grabs a blanket. There is too much smoke. He throws the blanket over the fire. His hands burn. He doesn’t notice. Did he leave a kid up here? The children use this bunk as a rendezvous point for some reason. Does someone sleep here? Patting down the mattress, he finds nobody. The flames go out. His hands scream in pain. Tears well up in his eyes.

The flames go out having, thankfully only burned that one bunk.

He checks every bed, making sure everyone has gotten out before dragging himself out of the smoke-filled room. His eyes water and he can’t stop coughing. Laura is at his side in an instant, Huck behind her, the little five-year-old tightly pressed against his chest. He checks every bed. They’re all empty. He steps out of the room, his mind slowly catching up with his body’s frantic movements.

The hall is a cacophony of voices. A fire alarm rings shrilly in his ear. Doors up and down the corridor are open. He’s surrounded by skaikru carrying buckets of water and blankets for the children. Bellamy hugs Laura. His hands feel like they’re on fire. Slowly his brain starts to process sound.

“How could this happen?” “Is everyone ok?” “Where did the fire come from?” “This is grounder’s doing.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Well, it makes sense.” “Don’t trikru burn their dead? Maybe it was them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Octavia’s voice reverberates on the walls. Bellamy’s mind picking it automatically out of the crowd. She stands tall and proud with her trikru tattoos and braided hair. It seems she was sleeping in her assigned room, for once. “Skaikru is trikru’s allay. They don’t betray their allies.”

Bellamy could name a few trikru grounders who very much betrayed their allies, but that would only escalate the situation, and they really don’t need an angry mob right this instant. Not whit Nylah shyly peeking around O’s shoulder, not with Clarke standing beside him.

“Isn’t it obvious? It was Azgeda.”

Bellamy’s blood runs cold. Josh appears next to Huck, Amanda, and Bryan at his sides with Peter right behind Miller’s ex.

“Roan never would authorize such a cowardly hit,” says Clarke loud and clear.

“Ah! Well then. If _Roan never would…_ ” mocks Josh, his voice thick with sarcasm. Bellamy straightens pushing Laura behind him. “Wake up! This is not the first time Azgeda has played with fire, is it? This morning’s message wasn’t a threat, it was a warning!”

“And how do you think they did it?”

“They have their spy with them, don’t they?”

“Echo follows Roan’s orders. And he wouldn’t…”

“He already did!” shouts Josh in Clarke’s face. Bellamy moves slightly to the right, so his left shoulder is directly in between the two.

“That was Roan’s mother.”

Josh rocks back on his shoulders. “Way I see it. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“This was an attempt on our children’s lives,” growls Amanda, eyes narrowing.

“There is no proof that Azgeda did it. There is no proof that Azgeda is part of the anti-skaikru movement. Or that they left the message.”

The crowd clamors.

“There was a big bloody hand on the message.” “It was fucking signed!” “Yeah, isn’t that their clan sigil?”

“It wasn’t Azgeda!” shouts Clarke.

“How do you know?”

“We are their allies.” The blonde tries to reason, but there is no reasoning, not anymore. This is Murphy’s failed hanging all over again.

“Is his cock that great that you’re willing to sacrifice your people for him?”

“Back off!” growls Bellamy and behind Amanda, Peter smirks. “There he is. _Wanheda’s_ little bitch.”

“People! There is no need to fight among ourselves.”

The mob turns to Jaha’s pleasant smile. The ex-Chancellor walks calmly to where Josh, Clarke, and Bellamy are standing, and something about this feels awfully _wrong._  “They are not our enemy.” He makes a flowing gesture with his right hand. “Our enemy is out there.” His hand becomes an arrow pointing towards the door to the stairwell. “We accomplish nothing fighting against each other. Only by standing together do we stand a chance.” Jaha’s kind smile makes Bellamy’s hair stand on end. “Clarke means well, but this was an unprovoked attack. And we can’t let them think we are weak, or they’ll exploit it.”

 _Down here weakness is death._ Bellamy represses a shudder.

“ _Jus drein jus draun,_ ” he mutters, Clarke’s spine goes rigid.

“That is not the solution! We need to investigate. Find out who started the fire.”

“We already know who started the fire!” shouts somebody. Bellamy grabs Clarke’s arm taking a step back, his heart hammering against his ribs.

This is Murphy’s hanging, and they’re one wrong word away from becoming Murphy. And Clarke was never very good at keeping her mouth shut. “For all, we know it could’ve been an accident!”

“Why are you defending Azgeda?”

“Yeah if you love them so much, maybe you should go join them!”

Somebody goes to grab her, but Bellamy’s there to intercept him. “Back off.” It’s Josh.

“I guess everyone ends up showing their true colors, Aurora would be so disappointed,” grumbles the man.

“Back. Off.”

“It’s a pity I really hoped you would’ve learned from your mistakes.”

“I did.”

“Then, you burn with the rest of them.”

Bellamy frowns. Something in his brain clicks.

“I say we float the traitors and then do the same to Azgeda.”

“No!” Jaha’s voice carries. He doesn’t need to raise it to make himself heard. He exudes a sort of eerie calmness, a magnetic energy that makes people listen to him. “They’ll come to their senses” a heavy hand falls on Huck’s shoulder, the boy going pale, his hands white-knuckled around the little girl’s back. The girl is crying, face hidden in the teen’s shirt. “Eventually. For now, we need to ensure our safety.”

“Who made you Chancellor?” shouts Miller, elbowing his way closer to the man. “Last I checked that was Kane.”

Jaha turns slowly, and Bellamy knows what he’ll say even before the words are out of his mouth. “Actually, I am the only elected Chancellor there is. Kane was never elected, he lost the election to Pike.” The man’s dark eyes roll to Bellamy. “And we all know what happened to him. The job of protecting the last survivors of the Ark is mine.”

The mob is closing in.

Bellamy sees Octavia: her shoulders proud, her head held high, her stance wide. He sees Miller’s calculating gaze flicking around the packed corridor, Jackson at his back. Huck’s still under Jaha’s hand. He doesn’t have to look to his left to know Clarke’s there. Laura’s little hand in his is damp with sweat.

The world narrows down to those people. He would like to know where Raven, Monty and Harper, Murphy and Emori and the rest of his people are, but there isn’t enough time.

“One of us has to get out of here,” mumbles Clarke, barely audible. “Warn Kane and Roan.”

Bellamy takes a deep breath. He guides Laura’s hand towards Clarke’s and feels the blonde’s close around the both of them before he lets go. “Move quickly. Don’t look back.”

The mob surges.

He jumps forward and to the left, tackling Jaha with enough force to send the older man crashing to the ground.

Huck doesn’t need an invitation to start running, elbowing his way after Clarke. Somebody tries to grab Bellamy, but he jumps to the side, shoving a man into a petite woman, the cramped space of the hall giving him the advantage of being just one and having more room to maneuver without fear of hurting someone on his team.

Still, somebody gets a hold of the back of his collar, and he nearly chokes himself when they pull him backward. Bellamy manages to get loose with a well-aimed kick and reaches Octavia’s side just in time to intercept the knife aimed at his sister’s kidney.

Being the most experienced and skilled warrior among skaikru, O is holding her own quite well, but she’s wildly outnumbered and, even with Bellamy at her back, they both get overwhelmed soon enough.

They’ve been backed against the wall, receiving blows from every direction and Bellamy knows they can’t win, hoping only that _somebody_ manages to slip out and warn Kane and Roan.

His eye detects Bryan, a syringe in his hand. And the rational voice in Bellamy’s brain knows it’ll just knock them out. But a visceral part of him only registers the threat. The syringe could contain anything. That syringe is about to plunge into Octavia’s shoulder, as she struggles against three faceless individuals.

His body moves without giving notice to his brain. The needle sinks into his back, just under his left shoulder blade, between his ribs.

Octavia’s hand comes to his sides, either to push him away or to help to keep him up, he isn’t sure.

His knees buckle.

She looks like their mother. Has the same splatter of gold flecks in her right eye.

The world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	12. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'll try to improve, but we all know it won't.

Bellamy comes to with a pounding headache and dry mouth, his tongue swollen, his brain feels sluggish and his ears as if they’re full of cotton, there is a kink in his neck, his wrists zip-tied to the armrests of a metal chair. The sounds around him are a muffled indistinguishable cacophony like he’s holding his head underwater.   
The harsh white fluorescents illuminate the mess hall: doors thrown wide open and skaikru coming and going, hauling long boxes. Guns.   
Across from him, Jaha pours over a stack of blueprints. Beside the ex-chancellor, Josh barks incomprehensibly into a radio. Bellamy shakes his head, trying to clear it, the movement catching Jaha’s attention.   
The ex-chancellor straightens and smiles his unsettling, soft smile. “Ah, Mr. Blake.”  
Bellamy tries to swallow, but his mouth’s too pasty for that. Working his tongue feels like a chore. “What’s going on?”   
Was Jaha’s smile always this creepy? Bellamy never liked the man, but his calm demeanor and pleasant expression, even as the whole world seems to be going to shit, makes the janitor’s hair stand on end.   
“We are rearranging skaikru’s social status in the bunker.”  
He looks around. They’ve lined the boxes into a straight line, and Peter is throwing the lids open, inside gleam the sensual bodies of semi-automatic rifles. Bellamy pulls on his restraints.   
“This is crazy!”  
“Why is he still alive?” growls Josh. “He should be tried for treason.”   
“We don’t kill our own, Josh.” Jaha’s dark eyes find Bellamy’s. “We are better than that.”  
“Jaha, listen to me. You can’t give them guns. There are children in...”  
“Grounder children” growls Josh.  
“Innocent kids, just like Ethan and Wells!”  
The ex-chancellor shifts his weight. He looks at Josh, plants his big hand on the man’s shoulder. “Give us a few minutes. He’ll understand.”  
The man isn’t happy, but he obeys nonetheless. Jaha walks around the desk until he’s right in front of Bellamy. He rests his butt on the surface and looks at the janitor. Bellamy had a teacher on the Ark that did the same thing. He can’t remember her name. The smile on his face is as condescending as his teacher's was. “I know you care about children. But I know you, and I will see eye to eye once I explain.” Bellamy doesn’t interrupt, and the man’s condescending smile widens as he nods his head. “We need them to see us as the strongest clan. So we’ll get rid of Azgeda, and the rest of the clans will see, it’s in their best interest to follow our rules.” Pause. Bellamy feels sick. “Azgeda is the enemy of many clans in this bunker. Clans that are willing to follow us if we prove we’re worthy.”  
“Azgeda is a clan of warriors. They will not just line up for the slaughter. It will be a carnage.”  
Jaha smiles.   
“You should know better. Didn’t you slaughter an army with only five people? This is the same. We know how you did it.”  
“You don’t. You weren’t there.”  
“No. But George Nightingale was.”  
“George Nightingale is dead.”   
“But his memories live on in the City of Light.”  
Bellamy feels bile rising in the back of his throat. “The City of Light was destroyed.”  
“It was. You and your little friend made sure of that, didn’t you? But the chip still works. It stored the minds of everyone that ever entered the City of Light.”  
Bellamy’s heart stops.   
The implications of Jaha’s words spreading in front of his eyes like a macabre blanket. Peter’s words make sense now. How he was able to parrot Raven word for word. Josh’s distrust, the fact that he never managed to get into their inner circle. They know he turned on Pike. They know he spies; they know how to push his buttons and how to manipulate him.   
“I think you don’t understand what’s going on here. Let me explain.” Bellamy doesn’t’ interrupt, and the man smiles, nodding his head. “Azgeda is our enemy. Azgeda is the enemy of many clans in this bunker. Clans that are willing to follow us if we get rid of the threat.” Bellamy frowns. This makes no sense.   
“It’s called the Anti-Grounder Campaign. Not Anti Azgeda.”  
“Well, we couldn’t have them prepare, now, could we?” he says like he’s talking to a small child.  
“But why? Down here we’re all equals. Just like when the space stations united.”   
Jaha’s face is still pleasant, and slightly condescending like he’s talking to a child. Bellamy’s head throbs, his brain sluggish after being dosed with a tranq twice in a day. But he forces it to work, to think. Trying to make sense of all this.   
“Unity doesn’t work like that.” Bellamy opens his mouth to answer, but Jaha chuckles darkly. “Do you really think the stations would’ve united if the thirteenth station wasn’t blown out of the sky? What do you think the Ark would’ve looked like with twelve sovereign countries battling for equal treatment and equal rights? Our ancestors knew that. They were willing to make the show of force necessary to protect the human race.”  
“We are better than that,” but his voice is small and pathetic even to his own ears.  
“No. We really aren’t.”  
Anger flares in his veins. “Clarke got away. She’ll stop you.”  
“That is the main reason you’re still alive,” Jaha says, his hand landing heavily on Bellamy’s shoulder. “You are going to help me make Clarke see reason.”  
“Am I now?”  
“We wouldn’t want anything bad happening to your dear sister, now, would we?” Dread settles deep into his belly. Bellamy blinks back the frustrated tears prickling in his eye. He failed. Everything he’s done over the past few weeks has been for naught, and he’s failed. Failed at protecting his friends, at finding out what Josh was planning, at taking care of his sister.   
“I see we have an understanding,” Jaha says. “Good, I knew you would see reason once I explained. You are a good soldier, Mr. Blake.”  
He doesn’t answer. There is nothing to answer. Jaha walks away, leaving him tied to his chair, heart hammering against his ribs and trying not to imagine the carnage that will ensue. His traitorous mind keeps supplying him with images of the blood-drenched field, of the moans of the wounded, the big terrified eyes of those about to be executed.   
This is all your fault, whispers a voice that sounds disturbingly like Octavia’s. He should’ve gone to Kane. He should’ve trusted his friends; he shouldn’t have been so selfish, so self-centered, so anxious to make himself feel better.   
“Who started the fire?” He asks, voice rising to be heard across the mess hall. Nobody answers. 

Bellamy watches the men prepare for battle: checking guns and ammo and coordinating. Peter leads one of the groups. Josh the other. Amanda mans the radio. Bryan is nowhere to be found. There is a sense of levity to this group of soon-to-be-murderers that wasn’t on Pike’s team. Bellamy wasn’t happy about having to kill the army. He didn’t anticipate it; he wasn’t thirsting to drench his hands in his enemy’s blood. These people, on the other hand, are practically vibrating with the emotion, quieting when Jaha comes closer and with words of encouragement, telling them how right it is what they’re about to do. How they’re saving their people. And, just like that, the army marches out.   
Is this how Lincoln and O felt when Pike guided his supporters to slaughter the sleeping army? Helpless and frustrated and angry. He hears the boots marching towards the stairs, thundering on the steps. Or maybe that’s just his imagination supplying the information he doesn’t have.   
Jaha and Amanda stay by the door, murmuring, their radio chirping every now and then.   
He stares at them. Is the small skaikru army at the az-quarters yet? Has the carnage started? How long will it take? Will he hear the shots? Will he hear the screams?   
His treacherous mind supplies him with the image of Echo’s bullet-riddled body at Roan’s feet – loyal protector till the end – and his stomach churns. It all happened too quickly; he couldn’t warn her.   
Bellamy pulls on his restraints, the sharp edges of the ties biting into his skin. He pulls harder, pushing his whole body against the thin restraints. And that’s when he sees the vent right over his head. He can’t be sure, but the darkness behind the grate seems to shift.   
Echo’s words come to mind: If I were organizing an uprising, and trying to keep my friends a secret, I would make sure my informants were inconspicuous. Somebody that can slip by undetected.  
He frowns up at that vent.  
The whole bunker is riddled with them: small tunnels that connect every last room. Small enough that a grown man would have trouble maneuvering through them.   
But not a child.  
He remembers the pile of kids in the orphan’s room. Huddled on the cot under the grate-less vent. How often had he thought he should fix it? The grate was just lying there; it would’ve taken him only a few minutes to screw it back into place.   
He remembers seeing Ethan on that cot, only to discover he wasn’t there anymore when he finished his story.   
Then, you burn with the rest of them.   
Son of a bitch.   
They’re using the children. They’ll use the children to flush Azgeda out of their beds with multiple fires at once, and then wait at the door with semi-automatic rifles. They’ll make murderers out the children. He stops, imagining the kids struggling with that guilt that follows him everywhere, fearful of the monster that constantly nips at his heels.   
Bellamy’s anger burns cold and brutal. Jaha might not want to kill his people, but he will kill the ex-chancellor. He’ll bury his knife into the man's chest; he’ll peel his skin off and tear his entrails…  
His knife.  
The knife he’s not supposed to be carrying around. The knife he tucks safely into his boot every morning because he feels naked without it.   
Bellamy looks down at his unrestrained feet. There is a knife in his right boot.   
Careful not to attract anyone’s attention he drags his right foot back. He pulls on his restraints, no longer madly trying to break loose, but trying to reach his foot. The zip tie digs into his skin, blood slickening his fingers. He doesn’t care.   
Bellamy’s not a very flexible guy, but after a few moments, he manages to hook a slippery finger on the pull loop of his boot, then another.   
His heart hammers against his sternum.  
Jaha and Amanda continue pouring over their blueprints, whispering into their radios.   
Wiggling the first two knuckles into the boot shaft he searches for the knife’s pommel. For an agonizing second, he finds nothing. Then, the tip of his middle finger brushes the wooden tip of the handle. He looks up, but his captors have noticed nothing. His thigh and side ache, his wrists throb, blood rolling to the stone floor. Pulling it out is slow and difficult being able to use only the blood-slicked tips of his fingers. But then the handle is halfway out, and he manages to get a hold of it.   
His foot slams noisily back down on the floor. Jaha and Amanda’s heads snap up, and Bellamy snarls, pulling on his restraints, trashing and begging whatever gods might listen to him that they don’t notice his fingers clawed around the armrest, hiding the shiny blade. Amanda is the first one to dismiss him. Jaha stares with narrowed eyes for a few agonizing heartbeats. It looks like he’s about to come over, but thinks better of it and goes back to work.   
Bellamy takes a deep breath.  
The knife snaps through the zip-ties, and he’s free.   
He’s on his feet before the second binding has touched the ground, tackling Amanda to the ground and throwing his foot against Jaha’s kneecap. The man staggers, catching his fall on the backrest of a metal chair.   
Amanda shrieks as she throws herself against him, but Bellamy has been training with some of the best warriors in this bunker. He throws her over his shoulder, jumps to the side and presses his knife to Jaha’s throat.   
“Call them back,” he growls, heart hammering in his chest.  
“He won’t kill me.”  
“Try me.”  
Amanda looks between Bellamy and Jaha. Her eyes fall on the desk between them. There are the radio and a handgun. Bellamy hadn’t seen the pistol before; if she goes for it, he’s a dead man.   
He presses the knife more firmly against Jaha’s throat. “Call them back!”  
Amanda’s hand goes for the radio. Bellamy nearly can’t hear her over the frantic beat of his heart.  
“Light them up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	13. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very small chapter as we start to wrap up this story.

Burning flesh has a very distinct smell.

Blood on concrete walls looks like copper.

Black smoke hangs like mist, curling elegantly around the sparse furniture.

Screams pitter-patter against the walls like an abating storm, punctuated by the thunder of machineguns.

A boy lies broken on the floor, eyes wide, tear and blood splattered cheeks, mouth gaping, a bullet wound in the back of his neck. It’s Snotty-Ivar. He’s still heaving, trying to breathe. 

Bellamy pushes forward, deeper into the corridors of the Azgedan sector.

A silhouette appears in the black mist.

A big human-shaped monster without a face, with a warped mirror instead of eyes and a gun aimed at the floor. No. At a man, sprawled on the ground. One of Azgeda’s proud warriors. There’s something inherently wrong in seeing that man trying to crawl away from the gun’s black muzzle.

The monster pulls the trigger. Once. Twice. The body jerks with each bullet.

 _Mountain men_ , whispers a terrified voice in the back of his mind. The dark corridor looks exactly like the one in Mount Weather did. The shadowy figures in masks studying him and the other grounders like cattle. Processing them.

Bellamy wants to stop them, but he can’t. He can’t move, he’s kneeling on the concrete floor, he’s unarmed and undressed, bare and terrified, his hands tied together, his whole body frozen in that instant, looking at the translucent screen that’s the monster’s face, at the amorphous and bulky blue body of something that looks almost human.

A shout to the left jerks him back. Out of the mountain and back into another bunker. Out of one nightmare and back into another.

He rushes forward. There’s nothing he can do for the warrior, but there are still survivors. There’s still hope.

Echo’s shielding a young woman with her body. Her left leg twisted at an impossible angle and blood flowing from her hairline. Her clothes are blackened and charred. In her left hand a wicked-looking knife, the right thrown back like that’ll somehow save the woman.

The mountain man – no. The skaikru man standing in front of Echo aims. The spy pulls her lips back, showing her teeth, a growl reverberating in her throat. Bellamy doesn’t think. He shoves the man against the wall, his knife embedding itself into the man’s forearm.

The monster roars in pain; looks up just in time for Bellamy to aim a quick kick to his face. The mask cracks and is dislodged, revealing Josh’s face. “You think this will make a difference?” grumbles the man. “They are already dead. Saving these two won’t make a difference.”

Bellamy feels numb when he slams Josh’s head against the concrete wall. When he helps Echo and the woman he doesn’t know to hobble out into the stairwell.

He’s numb when he comes back into the Az quarters and inspects the burning rooms. In some, there’s no one. In others a pile of bodies. Some are warriors that died a warriors death with weapons in hand. Others died running. A few are engulfed in flames. Bellamy feels numb when he finds the rest of the Anti-Grounder Campaign. He’s numb when he slams Josh’s rifle into a man’s nose. He’s numb when skaikru drops their weapons. He’s numb when the guard finally arrives. He’s numb when he drops the gun when his arms are wrenched behind his back. He’s numb when they throw him into a cage full of orphans. The holding cells were never this crowded.

The children are covered in sooth, pale-faced and shaky. Some can’t stop coughing. Bellamy sits with his back against the bar, his legs against his chest.

His mind numb, body aching. When the door opens, and a grim-looking guard pushes little Laura into the already full cell, his heart breaks.

A deep agonizing pain piercing his chest.

Laura looks unsure around herself. She takes a few steps closer to him. “Tell me,” Bellamy doesn’t recognize his own voice, “tell me you weren’t part of it.”

Laura looks down at her shoes. “Josh said we would keep you safe,” whispers the girl. “He said this was to make sure nobody would suffer under Azgeda ever again.”

Bellamy bows his head closes his eyes and wishes the numbness were back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. This was emotionally draining.   
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	14. THIRTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack on the Az-Sector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be mindful that this chapter - and the rest of this story - will contain suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> Also, I have absolutely no background in psychology and thus the character of Johanna might feel like she's not a real therapist.

Time passes without Bellamy noticing. The lights go on and off at regular intervals, food is brought to the prisoners, there’s chatter and whispers, cries. Sometimes one of the orphans will come to sit beside him. Every now and then soldiers come in and take people out of the cells for interrogation. The rest of the prisoners cheer like the criminal is some sort of hero.

All this happens around him without him noticing.

Time has lost its meaning.

Bellamy remains sitting with his back to the hard bars of the cell, legs pressed against his chest.

There isn’t enough air in the room; there is both too much noise and not enough. His mind is too full and completely empty at the same time. The monster has devoured him and he’s sitting in its belly, surrounded by too much light, too much darkness. The cold, slimy touch of the monster’s skin is inside his brain.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been here when the door to his cell opens. The children huddle in the farthest edge of the small room and a small, quiet voice in his head wonders if he shouldn’t stand between them and protect them from this unknown threat. But his body won’t move and he’s left paralyzed watching as two guards drag Bea away. The sixteen-year-old girl looks imploringly at him, and the small part of Bellamy that isn’t drowning in slick darkness wants to say something encouraging

The rest of him just stares at her.

What is he supposed to do anyway? Offer some sort of comfort? Tell them everything will be ok? How? In trying to protect them he’s turned them all into murderers.

At some point, they bring Bea back. She stumbles into the room, tears staining her face. She looks around the room like she’s lost and wanders over to him.

“Bellamy?” The sound of her voice: lost and unsure, breaks his heart.

For a moment she looks like Zoe Monroe, the fearless warrior that stood by his side till the end. He had taught Monroe to do a fishtail braid, told her stories, let her confide in him and led her to her death.

“Bellamy, please.”

Bea falls to her knees, looking at him with wide pleading eyes. Her hand is warm when it lands on his left leg. “We only wanted to keep our people safe. Like you.”

He can’t look at her. Can’t look at any of them. He bows his head, resting his brow on his knees.

 

Time passes, the guards take other children, but they all come back, crying and unharmed.

And then Clarke is suddenly standing beside him.

She looks tired, her face gaunt and eyes sunken in. She doesn’t so much sit on the floor at the other side of the bars, than collapse. The nutrition pack she pushes between the bars is a weird little thing. Wrapped in repurposed foil that leaves a distinct metallic tang on the dry, grainy bar of nearly flavor-less food. His fingers brush hers when he takes it and Clarke offers a small smile that doesn’t reach her hollow eyes.

Bellamy plays with the wrapper. His stomach feels funny; it’s too empty and too full at the same time. He isn’t sure he would be able to swallow anything.

“Ninety-eight casualties.” There is a lengthy silence and then Clarke adds. “They killed Roan in his sleep. Slit his throat and let him bleed out.”

He picks at the bandages around his wrists. He doesn’t remember who put them there.

“This is not on you.”

“"A miss is as good as a mile.” His mom used to say that. If she were to see him now she would die of shame.

“Bellamy…”

“What are they going to do with us?”

Clarke swallows. “ _Jus drein jus daun_.” Bellamy nods. This was expected. It’s good to have a confirmation.

 _You want the peace of death?_ Taunts the monster circling the darkest recess of the cage. _You think you deserve to be free of your pain? Do you deserve that gift?_

He may not deserve it, but he cannot fight anymore. He’s not strong enough.

“They want death by a 100 cuts.” Clarke pauses. “Kane agreed.”

Bellamy nods. It’s not like Kane could refuse. Not after skaikru wiped away another clan.

“When?”

“When they decide they have everyone. They’re interrogating everyone to make sure nobody slips away.”

“They should interrogate Sana from Delphikru. Apparently, she and Jaha were friends.”

“Bellamy-”

“How’s Echo?”

Clarke swallows. “She’ll recover. It might her take some time to be able to walk again, but I think her legs will heal completely.”

They lapse into silence. There isn’t much more to say, really. She doesn’t move for the longest time, and only stands up when one of the soldiers comes in to take Laura away. The pain of betrayal isn’t enough to eliminate the spike of worry. She doesn’t fight the soldiers and walks with her hands zip-tied at her back, head bowed and lip quivering.

“Clarke.” His voice comes out hollow, echoing in his throat. She looks down at him, with her crystal clear blue eyes. “Don’t tell them I was spying.”

“What?”

“When they come for me, let me go.”

Her face goes through a dozen different emotions in rapid succession until it settles on determination. “No.”

_Suffer. You owe us that._

Bellamy bows his head and doesn’t move again until Clarke leaves.

 

 

The guards come for him a few minutes after the lights switch on. Bellamy lets them tie his hands behind his back and shove him out of the cell, walking obediently down the hall and into a dark interrogation room: two chairs bolted to the ground, a one-way mirror on the wall and a camera glowering in the corner. He gets shoved onto the first chair just as Johanna enters the room.

“Lose the zip ties.” The guards obey “That’ll be all, gentlemen. Thank you.”

The ark’s psychologist is a petite woman with cropped hair and a chipped tooth. She takes the chair opposite from him, a pleasant smile already on her lips, a pad and pen in her hands.

“Good morning, Bellamy. It is so good to finally have the opportunity to talk with you. I am only sorry that it is in this circumstances.”

Bellamy stares at her for a whole minute. Johanna’s smile doesn’t waver; her eyes don’t stray far from his face. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

“What do you want to know?”

“You were born Factory Station?”

“Yes.”

“From a very young age, you started to care for your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Your file was sent to me when your sister was found, but you never came to visit me.”

“I went to Vera Kane.”

She cocks her head to the side. “I didn’t know you are religious. Were you one of the Caretakers of the Tree?”

“No.” Johanna raises her eyebrows in a clear question. “She was kind to me.” If his brain weren’t muddled and numb, he would feel embarrassed admitting that. “Offered to listen, so I talked to her.”

For a moment the woman doesn’t say anything, and then: “You kept a low profile for a year, always a good worker, got the worst jobs as I understand it, but never complained.” There is nothing to say, so he stays silent. “And even though you tried to visit your sister, you never were inside the skybox.”

“The guards wouldn't let me in.”

“You never went to a superior officer or the council.”

Bellamy presses his lips together. The skybox was a shitty assignment, and the guards were often fed up with the job. Bellamy had been easy to pick on: demoted, pardoned, a criminal that had gotten lucky only because the council had thought his crime was ‘circumstantial’ and because ‘his mother had forced him to do it.’

“Why didn’t you rise the issue with the guard’s superintendent?”

“There had been a significant drop in pardons. O needed the best chance possible. Me rocking the boat would’ve been detrimental to that.”

Johanna nods.

“How did you come to earth?”

“With the delinquents.”

The woman sighs. Bellamy knows he’s being difficult, but he doesn’t understand what this has to do with anything.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about that?”

“What do you want to know?”

“You shot the Chancellor to get on the ship.”

“I should’ve aimed better.” There isn’t anger in his voice. He has trouble mustering the energy to feel pretty much anything.

“Why do you say that?”

“This whole mess could’ve been avoided if I had killed Jaha.”

“Well, he found the bunker.”

“And the City of Light.”

“So this is all your fault?”

Bellamy shudders. The words ring true. If he had killed Jaha when he had the chance so many people would still be alive. Or, maybe, they would all have been killed in a wave of fiery death.

“Yes.”

Johanna nods. “There aren’t many records of the three months you spent on Earth before the Ark came down. Why don’t you tell me about what you were up to in that time?”

Bellamy wets his lips. She’s talking about the Dropship’s battlefield. About the two more barrels full of rifles and another one with bullets he failed to find. She’s talking about the thirty kids he got killed because he didn’t want to leave their camp.

“Their army attacked at dawn. We had built foxholes to come and go, we had mined a part of the woods on the east, and our best shooters were strategically positioned. But they knew we had very little ammo.”

Johanna nods her head while he continues to explain the logistics of the battlefield. Lets him talk freely and only when there isn’t anything else to tell does she speak: slowly and calmly.

“What about when you weren’t fighting, what did you do during peace?”

“There wasn’t peace on the ground.”

“Not a single second?”

Bellamy thinks about that time of hectic mornings and lazy afternoons, of training laughing children and co-leadership. Jaspers false bravado and Raven’s quiet tent. Meat roasting over an open fire and the smokehouse promising a future, Monty’s plans of expansion behind the eastern wall, the small vegetable patch that sometime could become an orchard. Hunts with his friends and nights under the stars telling stories. Yes the fear of grounders was there, but there was also those quiet moment in which they were just _happy_.

 _And you destroyed that,_ whispers the monster crouching in the shadows behind Johanna’s chair.

The psychiatrist is still waiting for him to answer, so he tells her, even if he doesn’t understand why she would want to know these things. They are not related to the Anti-Grounder Campaign or Jaha’s plan to up the status of skaikru, and they aren’t related to him.

Johanna likes the stories: she laughs when he speaks of Jasper’s antics and seems to miss how he stumbles over his name again and again. She shakes her head at Fox’s attempts at building bows, seems appropriately impressed with Tobias’ trap-making skills. Her expression softens when he talks about Clarke’s leadership, how she elbowed her way to his side as co-leader with her cleverness, her skills, and her hard iron will.

“You seem to care deeply for all of them.”

“Yes.”

“And then you lost them and didn’t get them back after Mount Weather.” Bellamy presses his lisp together and says nothing, so Johanna presses onward. “The few people that have come to me say that the people of Mount Weather started dropping dead due to radiation poisoning. But only three people know what really transpired.”

Bellamy fights the memories of the mountain men threatening his sister, drilling into Raven, collapsed over their dinner plates. He tries not to think of the weight of their bodies as he helped skaikru pull them one by one out of the bunker, the stench of burning flesh as they burned their remains. He keeps remembering the children’s little hands covered in radiation-burns. “We had no choice.”

“You must have been very angry at the grounders for forcing that decision onto you.”

He isn’t. He’s angry at Kane and Abby and himself for forcing that decision on Monty and Clarke. Neither of them deserved that weight on their shoulders. ‘ _I did what I had to do_ ,’ he thinks. ‘ _To protect my sister.’_

“It must have been a great relief for you when Pike won the election.”

This is his opportunity to establish himself as a strong Anti-Grounder follower. Make them all believe he was on board with it all along. Make it all end once and for all. But his tongue won’t work.

“You were part of the squad that killed the army outside of Arkadia, and then you were part of a reconnaissance group he sent to a village nearby.” Bellamy remains silent, waiting to see where this is going. “And yet, in both instances, you argued against it: You argued against mercy-killing the wounded grounders.”

“It wasn’t mercy-killing. It was executing them.”

Johanna inclines her head like she’s conceding the point. “And then you double-crossed Pike after the reconnaissance mission.”

Thinking about the night-attack on the village brings back the image of Monroe choking for air. Dying right in front of him. _Clarke would’ve known how to save her._

“No. I double-crossed Pike after he started sentencing our people to death.”

“Wasn’t he executing traitors?”

“We don’t decide who lives and dies down here.” Clarke’s words were a relief back at the Dropship, and he had kept them close to heart like a mantra. They were free from the fear of floating. Their people wouldn’t choke on that threat, wouldn’t cower and hide and suffer because of it. Kane seemed to think the same, but not Pike. Pike would’ve brought that terror back and kill everyone who opposed him.

“And yet you went into that camp and opened fire against the sleeping army.”

Anger bites deep into his lungs. “That’s different. We were at war.”

“Now we aren’t. And yet you were found in the Azgeda Sector, after curfew, with the rest of the Anti-Grounder Campaign.”

Bellamy swallows. He wants to say something, but his mind is blank, the anger has left as suddenly as it appeared, leaving him numb and bone-tired.

“What were you doing up there, Bellamy?”

He wants to tell her that yes, he was there to kill all those filthy grounders. But he keeps remembering Snotty-Ivar’s broken body, the monstrous mountain men look-alikes, Echo trying to defend the only other az survivor.

 _They listen to you_ , Clarke used to say back at the Dropship. But nobody does anymore. He has lost his voice and he’s drowning in pleas and reasons and how could his kids do this? How could they crawl through the vents with fire in their hands and burn a hundred human beings alive?

“Bellamy?”

Johanna’s voice seems to come from very far away, but he can’t concentrate. He can’t breathe. The walls are closing in on him, and he’s paralyzed. The monster in the dark growls before pouncing on him.

It lands on his shoulder and Bellamy jerks back, falling off his chair.

“It’s ok, Bellamy.”

He blinks.

The monster is nowhere to be found. It’s just Johanna, standing in front of him, bot hands up. Her smile has vanished at last, replaced by a worried frown. “You are ok, Bellamy. You are safe.”

He looks around, feeling disoriented. The mirror shows a gaunt face and a wiry frame he doesn’t recognize. The mirror’s eyes are sunken and blood-shot, deep shadows crawling down his sunken cheeks, grayish, dry lips, small patches of stubble growing on his chin. The mended clothes hang from consumed shoulders, the white bandages around his wrists a bright contrast to the rest of his dark self.

He’s turned into a specter, a nightmarish phantom. If his mother could see him now-

“Bellamy? Can you hear me?”

Tearing his eyes from the distorted image on the mirror is harder than it should be. Johanna offers an encouraging little smile, but he flinches when she takes a step closer to him. There’s rushing in his ears, and shame burning in his chest. He drops his eyes and climbs to his feet.

“I think we should leave it here for now,” offers Johanna.

“No. I am fine.”

“You clearly aren’t.”

He forces his head up, forces his eyes to meet hers, to not sip to the side to catch a glimpse of his reflection.

 _You think you deserve to be free of your pain? Do you deserve that gift?_ Whispers the monster.

No. He doesn’t. But he was always selfish, and he knows what awaits the followers of the Anty-Grounder Campaign _._ “I was in the Az sector to kill every last one of those filthy grounders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and commenting. You guys are the best.


	15. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings. A lot of them.  
> I dedicate this chapter to Leo.

The rotunda is crowded with the accused. Piled on the long ramp around them, the remaining thousand people that comprise what’s left of the human race. The air crackles with tension, hatred and sorrow and fear. It’s so thick Bellamy can taste it in the back of his throat.

The grim-faced council walks out of the control room and onto the small balcony overseeing the floor. As soon as they step forward, an ominous hush falls over the crowd.

Indra takes a deep breath, throws her shoulders back, her voice booms over their heads, slamming against the walls: “A great crime was committed against Azgeda. During the night members of skaikru broke into their assigned quarters and, without provocation, burned ninety-eight of their people alive, including their King. Justice will be served.”

The crowd on the ramp mumbles their traditional _Jus drain jus draun_ like it’s part of a prayer.

A tall woman steps forward. She’s older than Bellamy; he guesses Roan’s age, the brands on her face similar to Ontari’s, and her posture, even leaning on a crutch to walk and wearing her arm in a cast, holds a sort of regality he’s come to associate with the ice nation. “I am Miranda kom Azgeda, Queen consort of King Roan.” She lets the words set in for a moment, then continues, her voice carrying over their heads. “My king was slaughtered. My child was taken from me before it could draw its first breath. My clan butchered and set on fire; their bodies denied the rituals that would grant them passage to the Afterlife.” Bellamy can’t tear his eyes off the Az-queen. “The laws of our ancestors will be respected. Everyone involved will be punished to ensure their fate matches their crime.” Her clear eyes roll over the accused. “Over ninety-eight souls lay on your shoulders, and you will carry them to their Ancestors Halls!” Miranda turns her head sharply to Kane. “Read the names of the accused.”

There are sixty of them down in the rotunda, all standing in tightly knit groups, tied together to prevent anyone from running away. In the center, Jaha stands tall, Sanna kom Delphikru and other fourteen grounders accused of conspiring with the Anti-Grounder Campaign at his side.

When the first name is read: “Sanna kom Delphykru,” the woman falls to her knees and looks imploringly up at the Azgedan survivor. Bellamy is only marginally aware that this is the woman Echo was trying to protect when he arrived at the Az-quarter.

“Death by a thousand cuts,” growls the woman.

“Jus drain jus draun,” mumbles the assembled crowd.

The next one is Jaha. “Thelonious Jaha from Skaikru,” reads Kane, voice strained.

“Death by a thousand cuts,” declares the woman, voice ice-cold, eyes burning with hatred.

“Jus drain jus draun,” mumbles the assembled crowd.

On and on they go for a long time. The naming is slow and the longer it goes on, the more people start to cry, shake. They all pull closer and closer together. Some of them fall to their knees, some beg for mercy. The queen doesn’t seem to hear them, her eyes traveling from one face to the next like she’s looking at disgusting bugs in a jar.

There’s a sort of admirable serenity about her as she regards the destroyers of her clan.

Kane’s voice stumbles over the name “Laura Lovejoy kom Skaikru.”

Bellamy’s eyes snap down to the little girl at his side: pale, trembling and terrified. The children all huddle closer together. Someone’s little sweaty hand clasps his in a vice-like grip.

“Death by a thousand cuts.”

The girl covers her face with her little zip-tied hands. Someone wails.

“She is just a little kid!” shouts someone.

“What about my people’s little children?!” roars Miranda, and it’s not until her poisonous eyes fall on him, that Bellamy realizes it the voice belonged to him. “Who showed them mercy?”

“Please-“

“Don’t degrade yourself to these animals,” whispers Josh to his left. He ignores him.

“Please, they are just misguided children!”

“No. They are misguided murderers. And as such, they’ve been tried and found guilty. Now, shut up before I have you gaged.”

Somehow he manages to remain silent as they work down the list. One by one the names of his children are called. One by one, they’re sentenced to a gruesome public death. Bea is already on her knees when her name is called, and she presses her face against his knee when her sentence is the same as the others. Bellamy wants to hug her. Wants to hug them all. Protect them somehow.

He remembers Raven’s screams when they tied her to the pole in Ton DC, how slow the cuts were. The agonizing screams as painful as the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop it.

“Bellamy Blake kom Skaikru,” Kane’s eyes are wide and scared when he raises them from the paper to look at the az-queen. She is staring down at him.

“Pardoned.”

No.

The word is like a blow.

No.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

No!

A guard pushes his way into the rotunda and unchains him. His big square hand seems to weigh a ton when it falls on his shoulder.

No!

The children move aside to let the guard drag him away.

NO!

He fights to stay, but somehow the guard is stronger than him, and in the blink of an eye he’s out of the rotunda staring at the heavy steel door. Miranda’s voice seeps into his bones.

“The executions will start tomorrow at dawn, ten at a time. Make peace with your gods.”

Somewhere inside him, around him, the monster laughs. _Suffer. You owe us._

 

***

 

Bellamy lies on Laura’s bed in the orphan’s room. The blankets smell like smoke and still, very faintly, of lavender and the standard issued soap they all use. Her pillow is wet with tears and spit, none of which belong to her.

He isn’t crying anymore; there are no tears left. There isn’t much of anything left, really. He’s curled inside the monster’s belly, surrounded by all-encompassing darkness, engulfed, chocked and tied down. His body won’t respond, his mind feels like a muddy bog.

The door clicks open, but he can’t be bothered to raise his head.

The world around him doesn’t feel real.

“Good morning, Bellamy.”

Echo rolls around the corner so that she can look him in the eye. He stares at her clunky wheelchair, her legs encased in a white cast.

He did this.

“I wanted to thank you, for saving my life,” her hand lands on his arm, but he doesn’t feel it. “Bellamy, look at me.”

He obeys.

Echo is… Ok. Her hair has been pulled back into a thick braid, and there is a faded bruise on her cheek. She often has bruises from when she wasn’t quick enough during training. She looks like nothing happened, if you can ignore the wheelchair, that is.

Bellamy can’t.

Someone broke her legs. Someone broke her legs to prevent her from running away or fighting or-

“It seems like I have another life debt to you.” She tries to smile, and it works. But he knows her enough by now to see the sadness buried deep in her caramel eyes. “I am alive because you risked your life to save me. Haiplana Miranda is alive because you saved her life.”

“That’s why she pardoned me?”

She purses her lips.

“She pardoned you because every single child said you weren’t part of the Campaign. Because Clarke and Kane and I vouched for you.” Her grip is vice-like on his hand. He doesn’t feel it. “Miranda pardoned you because you are not guilty.”

“The children…”

“The children crawled through the vents and set my people on fire.” The spy swallows, trying to get the spike of anger back under control. “Haiplana was supposed to be with Roan,” she clears her throat and looks away for a moment. Bellamy knows how close the spy and her king were, in the general numbness a something small in his chest twitches. He wants to hold her, let her wail and mourn in a way he knows she hasn’t allowed herself to. “But he sent her away. He thought she would be safer hidden among the people. It would make her less of a target. If she had been up there, someone would’ve slit her throat in her sleep, too.” The spy takes a deep breath, pulling all her pain under wraps. Bellamy wants to say something, but his body refused to comply. “That’s why she was the one to read the sentences.”

He nods. “I didn’t know Roan had a wife.”

“That’s because I am good at my job.” Echo tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. He is responsible for this, too. “Nobody was supposed to know. We encouraged rumors about my king and Wanheda. Many councilmembers thought of Miranda as Roan’s maid, which might have been degrading, but it kept her safe.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Echo rolls closer to the bed until her knees are pressed against the mattress. “You and she are all that I have left, Bellamy, my queen, and my only friend. I need you. Please.”

He stares at her for a long moment: her pleading caramel eyes, and long nose and harsh regal cheekbones.

“I only want to sleep, Echo.”

 

***

 

Today is the first round of executions.

Bellamy can hear the screams even though he’s many stories below the rotunda. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he should be up there, witnessing the sacrifice. He should be there, paying. But he cannot bring himself to move, so he stays in the orphan’s room, laying on Laura’s bed that still smells more like smoke than her and doesn’t move.

The door opens with such violence, it bangs against the wall and bounces right back. Bellamy doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. He isn’t sure he could turn even if he wanted to.

Octavia enters the room like a tornado and grabs his shoulder, forcefully dragging him up. Forcing him to look at her face, which is a mixture of guilt and anger he has seen many times before.

“What the fuck, Bellamy?”

Her fingers are like claws, hooks burrowing into his flesh and bones to keep him up. The tiny part of him that’s not completely numb wonders what he’s done now. What else could he possibly have done to warrant her anger?

He wants to move away when Octavia launches herself on him, but her fingers are still holding him in place.

Instead of a blow, though, Octavia throws her arms around him and presses into him so hard she seems to want to break him in two. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobs into his ear and, even though he isn’t quite sure what’s going on, he knows what to do when his sister is upset. His arms come naturally around her; she still fits perfectly in them – will always fit perfectly with him – and rubs soothing circles on her back. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve been killed. I could’ve lost you.”

Over their heads, the execution continues. Screams permeate the concrete like blood seeping through the cracks, they find their way down, down to where they stand. Soaking him.

“I am ok, O.”

“That’s not what I mean!” she wails.

Bellamy doesn’t know how to answer, so he just pulls her harder against his chest. “You’re ok, O,” he whispers into her hair more out of habit than anything else. Octavia continues to cry. Begging her not to lie to her ever again.

And Bellamy holds her and lies anyway.

He is too empty to feel guilty about it.

 

***

 

“What are you doing here, Bellamy?”

It’s the third day of executions and the first time he’s managed to drag himself out of the orphan’s room and up to the rotunda. The stench of blood and piss and shit hangs so thick in the air he nearly chokes. An inch-thick blood coat carpets the floor. Ten poles have been erected in the center of the room. The ramp is packed with spectators. Watching the executions being mandatory for every adult and encouraged for the children. Bellamy stands between Clarke and Monty, Miller and Jackson and other Skaikru piled closed together. These people being marched in were their friends, their neighbors. This is as much a punishment for the accused as it is for everyone else who didn’t do anything to stop the massacre.

Among the prisoners, Bea, dressed like the other condemned in a white-ish shift and head shaved. The fifteen-year-old is the first of the children that will be slaughtered for their crimes. He wants to be down there, wants to comfort her tell her everything will be ok.

But it won’t and he can’t. So he stands beside Clarke and Monty and watches as guards march the girl and tie her arms high over her head. The chains are too short for Bea, and she must stand on her tiptoes. Her eyes are wide and terrified.

Bellamy feels sick.

The hooded executioners walk into the room once the prisoners have been secured, their long sharp knives gleaming in the overhead lights.

“You shouldn’t be here,” whispers Monty at his side.

But he has to.

The first cut feels like it’s happening to him. He grips the railing and forces himself to watch and to listen. This is his doing.

Someone tries to pull him away. “You don’t need to be here.”

But he does.

 

Once it is over, there is little left of the bodies. Bea’s just a chunk of blood and torn flesh; her small hands curled on the floor like smashed flowers, the white shift in tatters.

Bea wanted to join the guard. She had trouble with math and physics problems but was good in biology. Her father had been a trader. Bellamy remembers his little table at the exchange. Bea had been a tender of the tree for three years before the Ark came crashing down to earth. Her mother was still alive when the bunker doors closed.

The only thing left of Bea’s beautiful singing voice is the screams still echoing on the concrete walls.

In just a few days time this will be Mae and Virginia, this will be Ethan and Laura. And when the final child has been stripped and cut down, he’ll still be alive to carry the consequences of his failure.

_Suffer, you owe us that._

Bellamy knocks on Raven’s workshop door.

Emori is the one to open.

 _I am sorry_ he wants to say, but his voice has drowned in blood and Bea’s screams. Emori offers him a small smile and steps aside, allowing him back into the quiet and dark workshop that was a refuge before Raven kicked him out. The mechanic sits with her back to him, bent over something, tinkering like always. Always busy, always helpful and useful.

Bellamy is marginally aware that they were friends once upon a time. They shared Monty’s moonshine and laughed by the fire. And then he lied and broke that friendship.

He isn’t strong enough to face her rightful wrath.

 _I am sorry_ , he wants to say.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emori opening her mouth to say something and, like the coward he is, he puts a hand on her shoulder, shakes his head and flees the workshop.

 

The storage area is quiet, dark, terrifying and the place where he finds Murphy. Or, more accurately, where Murphy finds him. Bellamy isn’t sure how he found his way down here, what he’s doing or why he’s paralyzed in the darkness. The younger man takes one look at him, walks over to one of the dusty crates piled in the back of the room and pulls out a bottle of age-old whiskey. He offers it with a cocky smile “You look like you could use a drink.”

The delinquent looks better than he ever looked on the ground. True, he hasn’t completely lost the weariness with which he holds himself, and his shoulders are tense, but his smile is no longer a toothy grimace.

“I should’ve never let them hang you,” Bellamy blurts out, startling the younger man. After a beat, he tries to smile it off. “Yeah, it was a dick move.”

“No. It was wrong. You trusted me to protect you, and I failed. You were in a position I had put you in and, even as I saw how out of control it was getting, I never did anything to change it.”

Murphy frowns. “Am I supposed to apologize now or…?”

“No. I only wanted to tell you that I am sorry. It was wrong, and it only got worse after that.”

“You hanged me. I hanged you. Justice was served. I don’t hold that against you, Bellamy.”

The words hurt. They hurt because of how honest they are, how quiet Murphy’s voice is when he hands out forgiveness. How unearned that forgiveness feels.

“Justice,” Bellamy muses.

He remembers Lincoln’s words: _If death has no cost, life has no worth._ His debt is so huge it threatens to snap his back in two.

“Yeah. Or maybe it is just revenge, an eye for an eye, that sort of thing. But it feels fair, don’t you think?”

“Did it feel good?” he asks. “When you pushed the bench from under my feet, did you feel vindicated?”

“No.” the delinquent tips the bottle back and takes a long gulp of whiskey before passing it to him. “I felt awful and angry for feeling bad. But it wasn’t about feeling good, not really. It was about making you feel what I felt. It was about making you as small and worthless as I was, because…” Murphy swallows, rolls his tongue over his teeth. A self-deprecating smile curling the corner of his lip. “Somehow, in less than a fortnight, you managed to become the most important person in my universe. I only wanted your approval. And then you discarded me like I was nothing,” He takes a deep breath and snatches the bottle from Bellamy’s numb fingers. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

After a while, Bellamy raises to leave. He’s slightly buzzed, the alcohol in his veins making his thoughts agreeably muddy. He’s nearly at the door when Murphy calls his name. The younger man’s still sprawled on the floor where he left him. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Apologizing.” He blushes and looks away. “For thinking enough of me that you felt the need to do that? It’s stupid, forget I said anything.”

“You matter to me, Murphy. Whatever else you might be, you are one for the hundred. And your life matters.”

Murphy shifts uncomfortably. “You’re overdoing it now, Blake.”

He turns to leave. “For what’s worth. You are a great leader. We were lucky to have you.”

“Good night, John Murphy.”

 

***

 

He watches Clarke from the med bay’s door.

She’s humming under her breath, organizing supplies. The room is quiet with only two patients sleeping in the beds on the far left side. She braided her golden hair. It suits her.

Bellamy watches her move, doing her mindless task, being useful even in such a small way. When she finishes organizing the white bandages, she unlocks the medicine cabinet and starts unloading it on a desk, taking great care to put every little white box and vial in perfectly straight lines. There aren’t all that many boxes, and when Clarke checks them, most of them aren’t even full.

Bellamy’s wrists throb, remembering how she misused some of those precious supplies on him.

He clears his throat, and her eyes snap automatically to him. Her smile is honest and soft. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs wandering over to the table. Clarke lets him touch the different vials and boxes as he gathers his scattered thoughts.

She continues to jot down how much of everything they have left. It’s always been easy being around Clarke, existing beside her. He could always trust her and her ‘bigger-picture’ worldview.

He watches her and knows she’s trying very hard not to do the same, to let him find his footing and organize his thoughts.

Bellamy follows the line of her small nose and the high arch of her brow.

They’ve been through so much shit together. Even though they haven’t known each other for that long. She deserves so much better.

“You should talk to Johanna,” he blurts out. Clarke frowns without raising her head from the tablet.

“Why?”

 _Because maybe she can help you get to terms with everything_ is what he wants to say. “Because you are not broken yet.”

“Neither are you.” Her blue eyes remind him of the lake behind the dropship camp. Deep and calm. A place where he would gladly drown. He could live in those eyes. “We keep each other afloat.”

“Clarke…”

“We can get through this. Together.” Her eyes are pleading and if he could burrow himself in them, he would.

“I can’t watch the children get executed.”

“You don’t have to. It was irresponsible of you to go up there today.”

He doesn’t know how to answer, so he remains quiet. Clarke steps closer, invading his personal space, her hands claw at his thin shirt. The glass vial is cold in his hand. “Please, don’t go up there again.”

“I won’t if you promise to talk to Johanna.”

“Fine. Yeah, ok. I will.”

Bellamy smiles, shoves his hand into his pocket and fishes a protein bar out. “Have you eaten yet?”

They sit together sharing the meager protein bar and talk about nothing. He hasn’t felt more at peace in a long time.

The vial heavy in his pocket, Clarke firm and real at his side.

 

***

 

Bellamy makes his way down to the holding cells. Two trikru warriors stand guard by the doors. “What is that you are carrying?” one of them asks.

“Just a flask with tea.” He offers it for them to inspect. They unscrew the lid and take a sniff. “For the children.”

One of the guards presses his lips together. He and his colleague exchange a look. Finally, the second one shrugs and the one who talked unlocks the door. The holding cells are less crowded after half of the prisoners have been dealt with. Jaha and the resto f the Anti-Grounder Campaign leaders sit in the cell across the children’s. Jaha smiles at Bellamy, Josh – still with a bandage across his broken nose – make rude gestures and hurl insults at Bellamy and the guard.

The trikru warrior ignores them, unlocking the door unprompted. When Bellamy frowns up at the giant, the man sighs. “I had a daughter. There is no worse pain than losing your child.” He cocks his head. “I will let you say your goodbyes in private.” The noise of the door closing rattles Bellamy’s teeth. “Call when you are finished.”

And with that, he leaves.

Bellamy looks around.

The remaining children huddle together, wary and pale. He forces a smile on his lips, it feels like a grimace. “Good night, kids.”

Laura sobs and launches herself into his arms. She’s so thin he can feel her ribs under her threadbare shirt. The rest come closer.

He settles himself on the small cot and opens his flask. The tea inside has a flowery tang and acidic aftertaste. He passes it to the girl to his right: Virginia, leaning against Mae’s side.

Bellamy watches as they all take a swing, sitting around him in a closely-knit knot of frightened kids.

“Have I ever told you about the 100?” An excited murmur rolls over the cell. And so he starts. He waves a magical tale, half-truth half-myth about his people: Mbge, and Roma and Austin, little Miles and proud Miller, goofy Jasper and resourceful Monty. He tells them how Raven risked her life to come down and how Finn only wanted peace until the war broke him. He tells them about the reapers in the tunnels and three hundred soldiers attacking one lone dropship. He tells them of nights sitting around the fire and hunting parties, the thrill of the first storm and the fear of the acid fog. He makes sure he mentions every single delinquent by name at least once.

When the flask comes round to him, he takes a big swing and passes it on to make the second round, and then the third.

The first to lie down and close their eyes are the youngest. Laura’s body is heavy in his arms. Hi kisses her still warm brow, tears threatening to choke him. Still, he continues speaking. Until the last one of them has fallen asleep, he’ll continue talking, waving stories for them to dream about.

Mae’s head drops on Virginia’s shoulder, her hand nearly dropping the flask. The children that are still awake scoot closer. Virginia pries the bottle from her girlfriends' cool fingers and passes it to a thirteen-year-old boy, Benny. She lies down, getting comfortable, her eyes dropping closed.

Bellamy sighs when the flask makes its way back to him. The quietness in the cell like a cocoon. The bottle nearly empty.

He brushes a strand of hair out of Laura’s face. In the corner of the cell, the monster stares at him. Darkness tearing at the edges of his vision.

_Coward._

_You think you deserve this?_

_Murderer._

Bellamy closes his eyes.

He can see the bonfire in the dropship’s camp, feel the warmth of the flames on his face. He can nearly smell the flesh roasting, taste the explosion of flavor of their first kill. The memory of the delinquents’ laughter warms his heart.

Bellamy’s hand shakes when he brings the heavy flask to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was fun.   
> Thank you so much for staying with me till the end, sorry it took so long. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always this wasn't betaed. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


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